


Every Snow Thaws

by CuriousThimble



Series: Cold Hands, Warm Heart [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Divergent, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Hidden Feelings, Leliana matchmaking, Matchmaking, Meddling, Non-Canon Relationship, Post-Blight, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Romance, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, new relationships, non-canon, renewing friendship, romantic meddling, secret feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble
Summary: It's been ten years since Evette walked away from Alistair's life, and they've both tried to move on. So when Evette receives an invitation to Skyhold for Satinalia, she and her companion jump at the chance to see her old friend Leliana once again. What she doesn't expect is the meddling matchmaking that seems to be happening when she arrives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end, everyone! I've been sitting on this one for a while so that I could fill in a little more of Evette's story- lol, since I made so many people HATE her with her debut in Cold Feet. I hope you've enjoyed reading about my frigid little bitch of a mage, because I have LOVED writing this.

Two riders crest the hill and pause, looking at the towering hulk of Skyhold. With a full moon and a sky full of stars making the snow and ice sparkle, it looks like something out of a children’s tale.

 

“So that’s Skyhold,” Connor says softly as if speaking too loud would break something.

 

“So it is,” his companion agrees. “Come along, Pup, the Nightingale will be waiting.”

 

“Not  _ it’s late, let’s get you out of the cold _ ?” he laughs, putting his heels to his horse. “Just  _ come along Pup. _ What a harsh taskmistress. I should quit.”

 

“Would you rather I called you something else?” There’s teasing in the tone, and he grins. “Dog, perhaps? You’re a man grown now. And maybe Jacob needs an apprentice?”

 

“You could try my name,” he teases back. “Look at the mess, there must have been a hundred horses come through recently,” he says, looking at the muddy slush leading to the gate.

 

“Well it  _ is _ Satinalia, and Lady Montilyet has planned a grand ball.”

 

“Will you be wearing a pretty dress?”

 

“Only if you do, Pup.”

 

They approach the massive gate and answer the guard’s call before one of the doors swings open slowly, revealing a lovely courtyard transformed with snow, ribbons, and pine boughs. In the center stands a lone figure, wringing her hands with anticipation.

 

“Hello, Leliana,” Connor says cheerfully. “Please tell me it’s warmer inside than out here?”

 

“It’s good to see you, Connor,” she answers. “I promise it’s warmer inside.”

 

The boy leaps down from his horse and hands the reins to a stable hand before going to his companion. “Shall I help you down, old woman?” he asks.

 

“I am not so old,” she quips, dismounting on her own. “You _ do _ know I’m only ten years older than you, yes?”

 

Connor is pushed aside before he can answer, and Leliana wraps the woman in her arms. “You’re here,” she whispers. “Oh, Vette, I’ve missed you so much.”

 

Evette Amell’s hood falls back, a smile on her face as she embraces her closest friend. “I’ve missed you too, Leliana,” she whispers, pulling away to look at her closely. “How lovely you’ve become.”

 

Leliana laughs, throwing her head back. “You sound like an old woman,” she teases. “You’re only thirty.”

 

Sadness crosses Evette’s beautiful face like a shadow before it’s replaced by her typical placid expression. “Some days I feel older than others. Pup, run ahead inside, you must be freezing.”

 

Arm in arm, they stroll behind him as he hurries into the main hall. “For an ice mage he doesn’t do well with cold,” Leliana laughs.

 

“Oh, he does well enough with ice, but his heart is in spirit work,” Evette explains. “I’ve been trying to find Rhys to teach him what I can’t, but he refuses to come out of hiding.”

 

“Perhaps I can help,” Leliana offers. “The Inquisition has a...friend...who knows Rhys and Evangeline well. We’ll see what we can work out before you leave.” Before they reach the stairs leading inside, Leliana pulls her to a stop. “I should warn you…” she says, sneaking a look to the warmly lit great hall.

 

“What is it?”

 

With a deep breath, Leliana gets right to the point. “Josephine has been playing matchmaker,” she explains. “And she’s paired the Inquisitor with King Alistair. Ever since Anora died…”

 

Evette waves a hand, trying not to look interested. “It’s been ten years, Leliana, I’m sure he’s forgotten me. I don’t think of it, either.”

  
Leliana raises her brows slightly but nods all the same. “Good. With Josephine all but planning the wedding, I wanted you prepared.”

 

Evette squeezes her harm gently as they continue on into the hall. “I appreciate your concern, Leliana. Now let’s see what my Pup is up to.”

 

“I imagine Varric has him cornered already,” Leliana laughs. Sure enough, the two are seated at a table near one of the roaring fireplaces, drinks in hand, talking animatedly. All around are nobles, soldiers, and those with a taste for adventure drinking and eating, causing a dull roar.

 

“Why are so many people still awake?” Evette asks. “Surely the Inquisition doesn’t function by night?”

 

“Oh no, the Inquisitor’s just returned,” Leliana explains. “She was only an hour ahead of you.”

 

“I see,” Evette muses, looking around. “And where is this fabled woman?”

 

“If my guess is correct, she’ll be hiding from Josephine,” a male voice says behind them. The women turn to see a devastatingly handsome Tevinter man with a smile full of mischief. “Dorian Pavus,” he says charmingly, taking Evette’s hand. “You, my lady Amell, need no introduction whatsoever.”

 

Evette smiles but pulls away before he can kiss her knuckles. “Well met, Dorian, please call me Evette.”

 

“As you wish, Evette,” he charms. “Might I steal you away from the lovely Leliana? I’ve so many things to ask such a famous mage. We can talk about how wonderful we are.”

 

“I don’t think so, Dorian,” Leliana argues, all but baring her teeth at him. “You can have her later, for now, she’s mine.”

 

Pursing his lips, he wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Ooh,  _ selfish _ ,” he teases. “Do come to find me when you have a moment, I’m almost always in the library,” he adds to Evette, and bows once more.

 

Evette promises to do so and stops by Connor’s chair long enough to ensure that their things have been taken from the pack mule and to their quarters. The writer, Varric Tethras, wrangles yet another promise out of her, and suddenly Evette is quite glad they agreed to stay two weeks instead of only one.

 

“Vette, I’ve had rooms prepared for you…”

 

Evette is frozen in place, silver eyes wide and staring at the tall, broad-shouldered man at the far end of the hall, talking with what could only be Lady Josephine Montilyet.  _ Some things never change, _ she thinks, watching him rub the back of his neck as he laughs at something the woman is saying. 

 

“Vette?” Leliana repeats then follows her gaze to the commander. “Ah. I forgot you knew one another.”

 

“Liar,” Evette murmurs, shooting a scathing glance at her friend. “You forget nothing.”

 

“You  _ did _ know he was our Commander, didn’t you?”

 

Evette glares at her. “Of course I knew. I just...Leliana, you know- I told you-”

 

Leliana giggles like a naughty child and loops her arm around Evette’s. “All right. If you must know, I was hoping to arrange a little...reunion...between you.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, the mage looks unconvinced. “A reunion. Right.”

 

“Well, Josie has the Inquisitor and King Alistair all but betrothed, and I thought...maybe...you could use a distraction.”

 

“With the man who hates me almost as much as the king?” Evette asks skeptically. “I knew coming here was a mistake. Next time you come to me.”

 

Leliana laughs and shakes her head at her friend. “Stop, Vette. Talk with him, it’s been more than ten years!” she persuades as she pulls Evette along. “You’re both different people now.”

 

“Leliana, this is-”

 

Cullen looks up from Lady Montilyet’s story, catching sight of them approaching, and Evette feels icy dread settle in her stomach as she’s shoved directly in front of him. Up close, she can see he’s grown from a pretty boy to a devastatingly handsome man, complete with a roguish scar on his lip.  _ I guess some things change, after all, _ she thinks as they stare at one another silently.

 

“Cullen,” Leliana says, not even bothering to hide her glee. “You remember Warden Amell, don’t you?”

 

A small smile tugs at his lips and his eyes warm as he looks at her. “Of course I do,” he says, his voice smooth and deeper than she remembers. “Hello, Warden.”

 

“Rutherford,” she says shortly, relying on her icy demeanor to cover the emotions whirling inside her. Just seeing him reminds her of hushed whispers and desperate embraces hidden in shadows. For a woman who hasn’t so much as  _ looked _ at a man since the Blight, it’s rather unsettling.

 

The lady with him clears her throat pointedly, and he laughs. “Forgive me, Josie,” he says, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword and using the other to gesture to Evette. “May I present Grey Warden Evette Amell, Hero of Ferelden.”

 

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Warden,” Josephine says, clasping Evette’s hand and smiling. “I was delighted when Leliana said you were coming to our little soiree.”

 

Evette tries to smile politely- which doesn’t quite work out- and quickly pulls her hand away, looking around nervously. “I believe our definitions of  _ small _ are quite different, Lady Montilyet.” The three laugh and Evette keeps her smile frozen in place. “Please, excuse me,” she apologizes. “It’s rather late, and Connor and I have traveled quite a long way.”

 

“Of course,” Josephine says. “Leliana, do you want to show her to her room?”

 

“I’ll take you to your room, but I have no intention of letting you go yet,” Leliana says cheerfully, wrapping her arm around her friend again. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 

Cullen nods distractedly, his eyes lighting up when he sees something behind her. “Yes, ah, goodnight,” he mumbles as they turn to go.

  
Evette looks over her shoulder a tall, pretty woman entering the hall from a side door. She shakes out long black waves, smiling as soon as she sees Cullen.  _ That must be her, _ she thinks as Leliana pulls her away.  _ At least he has a type. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Cullen and Evette dance around the subject of their past, she surprises him.

“I thought you were tired.”

 

Evette turns her head to watch as Cullen comes out of the shadows of the tower. As soon as the sounds from the main hall had quieted, she’d slipped out of her room and into the night. Sitting on the battlement hugging her knees to her chest, she’d been watching the stars and swirling snowflakes in the air. “And I thought the Commander of the Inquisition had better things to do than walk the battlements in the small hours of the night.”

 

“Maker’s breath!” he curses, and whips off his black-and-rust fur coat, settling it on her shoulders. “Amell, what are you doing?”

 

Evette looks down at her light wool dress and shrugs. “I’m an  _ ice _ mage, Rutherford,” she says simply, fighting the urge to nuzzle the fur and find out what he smells like now.  _ Andraste’s tits, are you just wanton? What is wrong with you? _

 

“You’re also barefoot, without a cloak, and wearing next to nothing.”

 

“I’m fully clothed,” she argued, covering her toes with the hem of her dress. “Why are you here?”

 

“I...I wanted to apologize,” he says and rubs the back of his neck. “When we last met…”

 

“It’s fine,” she says flatly.

 

“It’s not,” he counters. “Amell...Evette, I-”

 

“Cullen, you really don’t have to do this,” she assures him, spinning around to stand. “Listen, we were young, and you had just been through something horrific. I was hurt then, but now...” She shrugs again.

 

“I agree I wasn’t at my best,” he says. “But I wanted to say that I’m sorry. What I said to you- my mind has been changed-  _ I’ve _ changed. I wish...things had been different. I wish we’d-”

 

“You can stop now,” she says, amused. “It’s long over, and I’m not holding any grudges.”

 

“You brought someone with you.”

 

“Yes, he’s been at my side a long time.”

 

“Is he...are you…?”

 

Evette can’t help but laugh seeing him blush in the torchlight, the sound only slightly warmer than the wind off the Frostbacks. “ _ Pup _ ? My lover? I can’t wait to tell him  _ that, _ ” she giggles. 

 

"You...you're  _laughing,_ " he says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I don't know if I've heard you laugh like that before."

 

“No? It must be Pup's influence, after all these years. He was my apprentice before his harrowing. That’s Connor, the boy I went to Redcliffe to save. When the Circles began to fall, we simply...walked away,” she says with a shrug. “He’s like a little brother, I suppose.”

 

“A little brother,” he repeats and sighs in what sounds like relief.

 

“Are you relieved to discover that he and I aren’t attached?” she asks, tilting her head and looking up at him. “If so, I daresay you’ll be elated when I tell you there’s been no one in ten years.”

 

“N-No one?” he asks, shocked. 

 

Evette gives him a sad smile and hands his coat back to him. Her hand brushes his, and it’s so warm it sends a shiver through her, like stepping into a bath almost too hot. “You know me, Rutherford. Always too cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dreadfully short chapter, I know, but I mean to update again soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evette and Alistair finally come face to face and throw verbal darts at one another.

“Pup,” Evette says sternly, glaring at him. “What is this?”

 

Connor lifts his hands helplessly and gives her a charming smile. “I didn’t do it?”

 

“You’re fired.”

 

“Jacob’s dead, you can’t threaten me with him anymore,” he reminds her, crossing his arms with a smug grin. When she doesn’t move, he sighs and drops his arms to his side. “You were going to have to see him eventually. Wouldn’t it be better to just get it over with, and enjoy our stay?”

 

_ He's too wise for his own good, _ she thinks wryly. The great hall was filled to bursting with nobles and visiting guests, with the pretty, dark-haired Inquisitor at the far end, her throne exchanged for a pair of chairs nearly as regal as thrones themselves. Unfortunately, it isn't the young woman that gives her pause.

 

Alistair Therin sits beside her, talking and laughing with Varric Tethras and Leliana. Age has been good to him, she realizes. His boyish good looks have deepened into a man so handsome it could take one’s breath away, and she finds she has to struggle not to wonder what his hands would feel like on her now.  _ Maker’s breath, this isn’t the time for fantasies. That part of your life is long over, Amell. _

 

“Ah...Evette?”

 

“You’re right, Pup,” she says with a resigned sigh. “Let’s get it over with.”

 

As they move toward the king and Inquisitor, she hears a familiar voice behind them. “Shall I introduce you?”

 

Turning, Evette’s growing dread eases as soon as she sees Cullen. “Rutherford.”

 

Connor raises his eyebrows in disapproval. “Well, he’s _my_ cousin, and we already know him...so that’s really not necessary…”

 

“Pup. Manners,” she scolds, lifting her own eyebrows at him. “Go say hello, Rutherford and I will be along in a moment.”

 

Connor shakes his head in confusion and heads for the king, mumbling something about rude ice witches and how  _ they _ need to learn manners.

 

“I’m almost certain I’m not hearing that,” she says loftily to his back, and he laughs as he goes. “I’m sorry,” she adds to Cullen with an exasperated sigh. “Sometimes he forgets he’s a grown man.”

 

Cullen laughs. “You’re...you’re all right, aren’t you?” he asks. “Last night…”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” she says. “It wasn’t that cold.”

 

“Are  _ we _ fine?” he asks, looking as if he’d rather be having this conversation anywhere else but a crowded, overly warm great hall.

 

While she doesn’t understand his discomfort with the conversation, she  _ would _ like to escape to the fresh, cold air outside, and looks toward the open door at the opposite end of the king. “Would you rather go outside?” she asks, inclining her head toward the door. 

 

He lets out a great breath and nods. “Maker’s breath, yes,” he says, and offers his arm. Evette just stares at it a moment, then back up at his face, and back to his arm. “Oh, right,” he says, laughing at himself and dropping his arm. “I forgot, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s strange, I know,” she says, clasping her hands in front of her as they walk. “Other people have warm skin, like being touched. Just not by me.”

 

“You don’t have to explain anything, Amell,” he tells her, leading her through a small antechamber with incredible paintings on the wall and through a door to the battlements. “You didn’t like being touched all that much in the Circle, either.”

 

“I liked you,” she says softly. “But it was different, then, your touch was…” She waves a hand before clasping it again. “It’s uncomfortable for both parties now.”

 

“Has something happened to you?” he asks, concern flooding his voice. 

 

She shrugs. “Yes and no.” She takes a deep breath of the cold morning air, pale eyes taking in the vista. “Have you heard many stories of the Blight?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“There’s one no one knows but a select few. Things...happened, and my power increased dramatically. Enchanter Irving told me after the Blight that I was too powerful, the ice was too much a part of me. He was afraid I would simply...freeze.”

 

“Does it cause you pain?”

 

She shakes her head, lifting one hand to look at her palm. “No. It’s nothing. Connor helps,” she adds, making a slow fist. “He’s so warm and full of life, he can’t help but rub off on people.”

 

“How did I know you two would be off somewhere, alone and whispering like sweethearts?” Leliana asks, coming through the same door they’d used a moment before. “Don’t tell me old feelings are rekindling so fast?”

 

“Leliana,” Cullen says, blushing and stepping away from Evette. “Good morning.”

 

Evette looks at him quizzically for a moment before turning to her friend. “He was rescuing me from Connor’s insistence I greet the king.”

 

Leliana nods and waves her to follow. “Well, it’s Connor's insistence no more,” she explains as they reenter the building. “Inquisitor Trevelyan has asked to meet you. She’s a big fan of yours, Vette.”

 

Evette follows quietly, shooting glances at a nervous-looking Cullen. Before she can think of another excuse to leave, she’s standing in front of the Inquisitor and King of Ferelden.  _ At least I look nice, _ she thinks, glancing down at her pale blue robes trimmed with grey fur and thinking of all the plain dresses in her pack. Alistair leans back in his chair, watching her closely, and Evette wonders if his expression is as indecipherable to everyone else as it is to her.

 

“Lady Amell,” the Inquisitor says, standing and offering her hand, which Evette only stares at until she drops it to her side awkwardly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

“Yes,” she says simply, ignoring the woman's frown. “I am pleased to meet you as well.”  _ Stop looking at me, Alistair Theirin, _ she thinks, unwilling to admit even to herself that his steady gaze makes her stomach flip.

 

“Uh...really?”

 

“Evette can’t tolerate much physical contact, Grace,” Alistair explains stoically, his eyes not leaving her face. “I daresay you wouldn’t enjoy it, either. It would be like touching something so cold it burns. It was a good thing I never caught frostbite.”

 

“Your Majesty remembers too well,” Evette says flatly, curtsying carefully. 

 

“I remember not minding the cold evenings we camped together,” he says softly, and Evette can feel a flush creeping up her neck. “You remember how cold it was at Soldier’s Peak, Leliana?” he asks, looking to their friend.

 

“I remember smelling terrible and doing our best not to starve,” the bard laughs. “Who can remember a little cold when half the time we were dead with exhaustion?”

 

“Perhaps his Majesty’s memory is not as sharp as he thinks,” Evette quips.

 

The Inquisitor laughs, throwing her head back, and Evette can almost hear Cullen’s heart race beside her. What she  _does_ hear is the sharp intake of breath at the woman's sudden burst of amusement. Glancing up at him, her brow furrows in confusion.  _Is he all right?_ she wonders.

 

“I think we’re all on a first-name basis here, don’t you?” the king chuckles. “Call me Alistair, like you used to.”

 

Grace Trevelyan nods, smiling warmly at her. “Of course,” she chirps. “Please call me Grace.”

 

Evette nods. “I will, Grace.” Alistair raises an expectant eyebrow at her, waiting patiently. She doesn’t satisfy him and bids them a cool good morning before escaping for the fresh air outside, Connor chasing after her.

 

“Evette, what was  _ that? _ You teased the king, insulted the Inquisitor,  _ and _ charmed her- all in a few minutes!” he laughs. “You’re becoming a social butterfly!”

 

“Don’t tease me, Connor,” she says softly, her hands flexing as wisps of fog roll off her fingers. "That was a disaster."

 

“Whoa, Vette,” he says, laughter dying and putting his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, look at me. You did fine,” he assures her. “Do you even understand what happened?”

 

“I’m not an idiot,” she snaps.

 

“No, but you don’t really understand subtle social cues, either, do you?” he counters. “The king was being nice, so you wouldn’t come across as the frigid witch you are, Vette.”

 

She blinks rapidly, staring up at him. “He was? I thought maybe he was making fun of me.”

 

Connor’s face hardens for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head. “We’ll try again later, Alistair has asked me to play a game of Wicked Grace with him this evening. There’s going to be several people there, so you won’t have to talk to just him. You can practice being charming.”

 

She scowls. “Yes, please put a rude, frigid bitch in a card game. We both know I'm not charming.”

 

“You mean a brilliant card player who could bluff the pants off anyone daring enough to try her,” he teases, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Just maybe wear gloves,” he suggests, trying not to laugh. “Don’t want to freeze the cards again. Last time they shattered, remember?”

  
“That was  _ not _ my fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *love* this chapter. It was one of my favorites to write. I wanted to give Alistair some cool wit with age, showing the change from the adorable boy we all know from Origins, and giving him some protection against Evette's sharp tongue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Grace discuss the history of his relationship with Evette that led to their chilly reception only moments ago.

Slumped in his chair, Alistair watches Evette all but run away from him while Leliana drags Cullen away to whisper and shake her finger at him. _Evette must still be angry,_ he broods. _That woman can hold a grudge longer than any dwarf I’ve ever met._ “Sorry, what?” he asks, realizing that Grace has been talking to him.

 

“I asked if something was wrong,” she says, looking a little unhappy herself.

 

With a deep breath, he opens his mouth to explain, but laughs self-derisively instead. “It’s a long story,” he says instead.

 

“If I had a guess, I’d say it has something to do with the Hero of Ferelden.”

 

He gives her a wry smile. “Am I still that obvious?”

 

“You two were lovers during the Blight, weren’t you?” she asks.

 

“How would you know that?” he asks, laughing. “You were just a kid.”

 

Grace’s jaw drops and she flips her hair at him. “I’ll have you know I was _fourteen_ during the Blight.”

 

“My mistake,” he chuckles. “ _What_ a grown-up lady.”

 

“Besides, everyone knew,” she says, putting one foot in her chair and picking at the fabric on her knee. “The Hero of Ferelden and the new King, both rising from nothing- what a fairy tale! You were legends. You still are.”

 

Alistair sighs and slumps again. “Sure. Legends.”

 

“I take it things ended badly between you?” she asks gently.

 

Alistair nods. “She was furious when she found out that I needed to marry Anora, but supported the match at the Landsmeet anyway. Ferelden needed the stability she would bring to the throne, but Eamon was...unkind. I wanted to keep her as my mistress, but she rejected me and returned to the Circle with my cousin.”

 

Grace nods, looking wistfully at the crowd of people in the hall. “Duty before love,” she murmurs. “I understand that.”

 

Alistair tilts his head and follows her gaze to the tall, dashing Commander Cullen Rutherford. “Rutherford?” he asks. “Really?”

 

Her blue eyes go wide and she looks at the king in horror. “Please don’t say anything,” she pleads. “He’d be mortified to know I've had such ridiculous feelings for so long!”

 

“Why are you sitting here with me when you could be over there talking with him?” he asks, leaning over the arm and getting a better look at the Commander.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” she sighs and mimics the slump he had earlier. “He’s the Commander of the Inquisition. I’m the damned _Inquisitor._ We can’t just...carry on.”

 

“Why not? You’re the damned _Inquisitor,_ as you put it,” he chuckles.

 

“You _do_ realize you’re here because Josie thinks you and I should get married, right?” she asks wryly. “Also, I’m nobility, the Inquisitor, and there are...expectations. I couldn't ask him to deal with all the trouble I'll bring to a marriage.”

 

Alistair looks back to the door Evette ran out moments ago. “Damn the expectations,” he says in a tired voice. “If I’d learned that sooner, things would be very different today.”

 

“Do you still love her, Alistair?” Grace asks in a soft voice. “After all this time? She’s so...”

 

“Cold,” he says, nodding, remembering her years before. “She was like that when we met, too. Cold, distant. It took awhile, but I got through all that. She used to trust me,” he adds, sitting back. “She can be incredibly warm- and one of the cleverest people I’ve ever met. She can deliver jokes with this totally flat tone that makes them even funnier.”

 

Grace raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Evette Amell, the woman I just met a few minutes ago? Funny and warm?”

  
He nods, steepling his fingers and resting them on his chin. “I know, but every snow has to thaw eventually.” He’s quiet a moment before sliding his gaze back to her. _She’s pretty,_ he thinks, watching how the firelight plays on her dark hair. _Powerful in her own right. Teagan would be overjoyed if I married the Inquisitor. And we’d be happy enough, I imagine. Except I had “happy enough” before…_ “Grace, let’s go for a walk,” he suggests, springing to his feet and offering his hand. “Somewhere no one can hear us talk.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evette and Cullen spend the day riding together, while Grace and Alistair devise a plot.

Leliana paces Cullen’s office in frustration. “Give me one good reason why you can’t put all this aside for a few days and entertain her?” she demands. "She's come all this way to see you, Cullen."

 

“I doubt that, Lady Nightingale,"  he says blandly, eyes focused on the report in his hands. “Holiday or not, the work doesn’t end.”

 

“I say it should,” she argues, leaning on his desk. “You seemed to be getting along well this morning. Just spend some time with her. I'm sure she's missed you.”

 

“What we had was both a youthful infatuation and many years ago. I doubt those feelings have lingered.”

 

“You won’t know unless you find out,” Leliana says with a smirk. “I’ve had horses prepared for you, and she’s waiting by the stables. You shouldn’t stand her up, it would be terribly rude.”

 

“What did you…?” he asks as she disappears from his office. Shaking his head, he puts his reports away and belts his sword on, knowing that if he doesn’t appear for whatever nonsense Leliana has planned at the stables there will be a price to pay- and with the Spymaster, one could never be sure what price she would extract. 

 

On his way out, he catches Rylen, giving him command for...however long he’ll be gone, which makes the man grin stupidly. “Going off with your new lady friend?” he asks, leaning on the stone battlement and watching Evette cross the courtyard toward the stables. “I can’t blame you, she’s beautiful. A little terrifying, but still beautiful.”

 

“Yes, she is,” Cullen says distractedly, watching Grace and Alistair stroll along the battlements across from where he stands. “Time has only made her lovelier.”

 

“Commander?” Rylen says, grabbing his attention. “She’s waiting,” he adds, nodding toward the stables.

 

Cullen makes his way to the stables, trying to ignore how Grace had smiled at the king earlier. She was such a cheerful person, in spite of everything she had gone through to defeat Corypheus, still able to find smiles and laughter for everyone. He knew she didn’t sleep well and often had nightmares or nervous attacks, but she endeavored to keep her spirits high for others. He admired that, admired  _ her _ , and wished he hadn’t been so damned proper when she first flirted with him four years before. If he hadn’t, perhaps they would be celebrating more than just Satinalia.

 

But she was the Inquisitor, and he the Commander of her army, it wouldn’t do to complicate matters with a personal relationship. He didn’t know if he could be impartial, make the decisions that needed to be made if he had to worry about the woman he loved being safe as well. Admirable and brave she may be, Grace was also reckless with her own safety and had a tendency to throw herself in front of blows meant for others. If he had told Grace that he was in love with her, and then lost to her Corypheus, he might have gone mad for good.

 

He could love her from afar, and even endure Josephine’s matchmaking, so long as she was safe and alive.

 

_ Thank the Maker it’s all over, _ he thinks, splashing through a puddle.  _ Mostly, anyway. _

 

Evette is standing by the door of the stables, hands clasped in front of her, her face serene and distant as she watches the daily movements around her. Cullen pauses, ducking behind a bush and studying her before she notices his presence. This morning she had been dressed in pale blue, and it left her looking innocent and delicate. Sometime in the day, she had changed into a dress of heavy, dark gray wool and a cloak of midnight blue that brought out the silver of her eyes.

 

_ Leliana seems to think there’s a romance here _ .  _ Perhaps she’s right, and I should push my feelings for Grace aside for the last time. Evette and I had something once, _ he reminds himself, remembering kisses stolen in the shadows of the tower, her skin almost cold at first, but warming under his touch as their embraces grew desperate. Before they could do anything to consummate their desires, Jowan had betrayed her, and she had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. The next time he’d seen her, he had thought she was a demon come to torment him.

 

_ What a terrible time...She saved us all, and all I could do was hate her for it. _

 

“Commander? Is everything all right?”

 

Blackwall’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and he clears his throat. “Um, yes, Blackwall,” he says, stepping out of the bush. “I was just…”

 

Blackwall grins and crosses his arms. “You would have had a better view from Sera’s window,” he tells him. “That’s where we were watching.”

 

“You were watching?”  _ Maker’s breath. _

 

“Well, not exactly,” Blackwall says smugly. “I was playing cards with Sera and noticed a pretty Grey Warden standing outside the stables. I thought maybe she had come to speak with me until I saw you hiding in the shrubbery.”

 

“I wasn’t hiding,” Cullen defends weakly. “I was...thinking.”

 

“ _Thinking_ , right,” Blackwall drawls. “If you’re going to go talk with her, I suggest you do it before someone else takes the chance.”

 

“Have you met her yet?” he asks.

 

“No, but I think I’m about to,” Blackwall says, lifting his eyebrows quickly and turning on his heel. 

 

Cullen follows quickly, eager to see how the man’s advances are received. Evette looks slightly surprised to see them- and if Cullen remembers correctly, means she’s truly shocked to see them. “Rutherford,” she says, giving him the polite smile she uses when she doesn’t know how else to react.

 

“Amell, have you met Blackwall yet?”

 

“Thom Rainer,” Blackwall corrects, offering his hand. Cullen bites the inside of his lip to keep from grinning when she ignores it. “They call me Blackwall.”

 

“Evette Amell. Forgive me,” she says, nodding to his hand. “My gloves...”

 

To his credit, Blackwall doesn’t so much as blink at her vague apology. “No need to apologize, my lady,” he says instead. “Is there something I can help you with? You seem to be waiting for someone.”

 

“I was waiting for Leliana,” she explains. “She said we were going for a ride.”

 

Cullen rubs the back of his neck, biting back a groan.  _ Nightingale… _ “It seems we’ve been the victims of a misunderstanding, Amell,” he says. “Leliana told me to meet you here for a ride.”

 

Her eyebrow quirks, momentarily animating her expression. “I see. Well, I do hate to be a disappointment. Shall we?”

 

For a moment, Cullen can only stare in shock. “You- you still want to go for a ride?” he stammers. “With me?”

 

“You are the one she sent to replace her,” Evette says logically. “So yes, unless you have other things to do. If not, perhaps Ser Rainer…?”

 

“That would be an honor, my lady, but he’s not busy,” Blackwall says quickly and pushes Cullen forward. “I’ll get the horses.”

 

Moments later they ride past the gates of Skyhold in companionable silence. He leads her down a path that branches from the main road, offering breathtaking views of the mountains and the fortress itself. For almost an hour the only conversation they make is about the extensive reconstruction of Skyhold and its challenges.

 

“Amell,” he says finally, riding side by side. “Why did you come to Skyhold?”

 

“Leliana invited me,” she reminds him. “She and I are still friends.”

 

“And yet she seems to always have an excuse to be...elsewhere.”

 

“I imagine being Spymaster for the Inquisition has its demands. I did not come to see you, Rutherford, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she says, giving him a blank look.

 

“And yet you seem to spend time with few others,” he says smugly.

  
“Not as humble as you used to be, are you?” Alone on the side of a mountain, surrounded by nothing but miles of snow, Evette studies him carefully, trying to untangle whatever his message is. Unable to do so, she settles for honesty, knowing somehow he will understand. “The truth is, I came because I knew the king would be here,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “I wanted to...to look at him, and make sure he was all right.”

 

“The king? Why would you…” He trails off, a laugh surprising them both. “So the rumors were true?” he asks, shocked. “You and the king were lovers during the Blight.”

 

“We were,” she says slowly. “I thought it was common knowledge.”

 

“Not to me. I was...recovering. And you’ve come to see him because you’re still in love with him.”

 

“I...I don’t know.”

 

“Evette, you  _ can _ have feelings,” he says gently, reaching across and taking her hand in his. “You don’t have to hide behind your wall of ice; you’re not in the Circle anymore.”

 

She pulls her hand away and looks out over the mountains, her face telling him that she held memories far darker than the shadows they’d kissed in.  _ What happened to her in the Circle? Was it the templars? Was it before or after the Blight? _ “Sometimes it was easier, there. Before I left, when we were young.” 

 

“And took risks?” he teases, trying to lighten the mood. 

 

“Those risks seem so harmless now,” she whispers. “Cullen, I’m sorry for what happened in the tower. In spite of what the other templars did, and how much I hated them, I never wished for you to suffer. I wish I had gotten there sooner, spared you some-”

 

“Don’t,” he interrupts, as uncomfortable with the topic as she. “It’s long over now, and none of it was your fault.”

 

“They used me against you.”

 

“They used what was in my heart against me,” he corrects. "It could have just as easily been my family."

 

She looks at him, her expression suddenly raw and vulnerable, and he feels closer to her than he ever felt before. “And has your heart healed?”

 

He’s quiet a moment, nudging his horse back to a walk before speaking. “In a way. I don’t think I’ll ever be free of it. I imagine you feel the same way about the Blight.”

 

“Yes. The Blight took things from me I cannot get back.” Being so open with him must be distressing, he realizes, even though she does her best to hide it.

 

“It doesn’t have to be that way, Evette.”

 

Her vulnerability is gone as soon as he speaks, and Cullen could kick himself as her frown smoothes away into an expression that reminds him far too much of the Tranquil. “Oh? What do you suggest? That I expose myself to everyone who wants to talk to me?”

 

“You could start with Leliana,” he says carefully. “Or me. You must have something for Connor, or else he wouldn’t be here with you.”

 

“You would look at a block of ice and command it to be warm,” she says with a thin laugh.

 

“I used to be someone you trusted and cared for, I want us to be friends again,” he says, knowing he’s pushing a little farther than she’s comfortable with. “Try.”

 

“Do you know why I liked you at first, Rutherford?” she asks, looking at the path ahead. “You were easy to be around. You didn’t require me to chatter incessantly like the others. You were fine with silence.”

 

“That’s because I was terrified to talk to you,” he laughs. “You were so beautiful, and I was  _ so _ shy.”

 

“And rather zealous at the time, if I remember correctly,” she adds flatly. “We exchanged glances for weeks before you asked my name. It must have been difficult.”

 

“And you ignored me the first time.” He chuckles. “You were different then, before your magic took such a firm hold.”

 

“I studied under an elementalist,” she reminds him. “I could have chosen fire, but I had a talent for ice. And,” she adds softly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, “I was shy as well.”

 

“Are you still able to work with fire?” he asks.

 

She lifts a hand, and without so much as a glance at it, it erupts into flame. “I did not abandon my skills when I left the tower, Rutherford. Only the Circle.”

 

A small smile creeps across his face, and he feels as if some of the weight of the world is off his shoulders for now. “You’re not half bad at this friend thing, you know.”

 

She looks at him then, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not? I can never be sure. Pup teases me too much to know.”

 

He laughs heartily then, reining his horse to a stop while he wheezes. “No, you’re not,” he assures her. “Why don’t we head back to Skyhold? Dorian told me there’s a game of Wicked Grace this evening.”

 

The ride back, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking amiably about their work. Cullen learns that she and Connor were in the White Spire when the chantry in Kirkwall was destroyed, and once the Circles began to fall they simply disappeared into the world. She learns a little of what happened in Kirkwall, surprising him with more curiosity than she’s shown most things. When they ride into Skyhold, she’s telling him a story about a time when Connor trapped himself in stone by mispronouncing an armor spell.

 

“You can imagine the birds and the dogs,” she says, making a moue of distaste.

 

Cullen laughs harder, gasping for breath. “Did you help him?”

 

“Of course not,” she says in confusion. “What would he learn if I saved him every time he made a mistake? The spell would not have killed him.”

 

“Evette, you aren’t telling  _ that _ story, are you?” Connor groans, approaching as they dismount. 

 

“What is the point of having an apprentice if one does not gain amusement from their failure?” 

 

Cullen watches her give him a smile warmer than any he’s seen from her yet as she ruffles his shoulder-length hair and teases him.  _ She really is lovely- and warm with those she trusts. Perhaps Leliana is right, and I should try to put my feelings for the Inquisitor behind me. _

 

*

 

Grace watches them from the window, chewing on her thumbnail.  _ He’s laughing! She’s made him laugh. What does that mean?  _ “Oh no,” she whispers, watching the warm exchange between them- well, it was certainly warmer than what Grace had seen from the woman earlier. “Alistair, come here,” she calls. “Look at her and Cullen.”

 

The king comes to the window, looking over her shoulder. “Shit,” he mutters. “I was afraid of that.”

 

“You don’t think anything’s happened, do you?” she asks, keeping her voice low so no one else can hear. “Between them, I mean? They've been gone a long time.”

 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I know they had something in the Circle, but that was over a decade ago. She never went into detail about it, so I thought it was long over. Maybe something between them is lingering.”

 

“Shit,” she mutters. “What do we do?”

 

Alistair chuckles and puts a hand on her shoulder fondly. “We stick to the plan. It’ll be fine, Grace.”

 

*

 

“Josie, if you squeal any louder, you’ll startle them,” Leliana chuckles, leaning on the battlement and watching Cullen and Evette in the courtyard below. Privately, she gives herself a smug congratulations on getting the two of them alone for such a long time, and wonders if the flush in Evette's cheeks is from the cold air or the blush of new love.

 

“They’re just so adorable together!” Josephine giggles, almost dancing in place. “I would never have thought an afternoon’s ride would be all it took. Look how he laughs!”

 

“Vette was always funny,” Leliana tells her. “She just doesn’t always know it- it’s difficult for her to read people.”

 

“Is that why she returned to the Circle after the Blight?”

 

Leliana is silent a moment, remembering her friends and the heartbreak they endured after the archdemon's defeat. “No,” she says softly. “That was a different reason.” She turns her back to them, suddenly feeling ashamed for watching, and crosses her arms over her chest. “How are things going with Alistair and Grace? Have you started measuring him for his wedding clothes?”

 

“I’m almost sure I could guess the breadth of those shoulders just by looking,” Josephine says confidently. “They’ve spent much of the day together, whispering and getting to know one another. I am certain I will be drawing up a contract before the month is out.”

 

Leliana bows to her companion. “Congratulations,” she laughs. “Perhaps we’ll have weddings in Skyhold before the year is out.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets Evette alone, but instead of sparking passion, things get more emotional than either of them are prepared for.

Connor never shies away from physical contact with his mentor. As a traumatized child new to the Circle, he had craved affection and guidance from his savior, but as a man, he understands that Evette is a woman capable of great depth of emotion but deeply afraid of rejection, hence the walls of literal ice she constructed to distance herself from anyone who might get too close. He isn’t certain, but he feels as if it has something to do with the visit the king had made to the Circle Tower soon after the Blight. He’d only been a boy, and so dazzled by the king calling him “cousin” and asking him for a tour that he hadn’t paid any attention to what had passed between the two legendary figures in his life. All he knew was that Evette had been put in solitary confinement before the king even left, and after the templars finally let her out, she had been quiet and sad for a long time. After that, she spent a lot of time in solitary confinement, and once, when she had spent a month or longer alone, she told him she simply didn’t feel human any longer. She’d said she was an empty shell, and stopped speaking to people.

 

Except him, of course. He had always adored her, and would never allow her to cut him off. He still has a child’s dose of hero worship for her, even as well as he knows her now.

 

So to remind her that she’s still human, he wears layers, enchants his clothing to keep him warm, and hugs her whenever possible. 

 

With her lodged between him and Cullen, playing cards and drinking, he can almost believe their life of rigidity and imprisonment had been a terrible dream. She warms up by small degrees- first a smile at a joke, then a smug look when she wins a hand. Connor can’t help but be proud of her as she struggles to interact with the Inquisitor and all her friends. For several hours they laugh as Varric tells stories and boo cheerfully when one of the Inquisitor’s inner circle is called away on some important task until only an awkward silence and five of them remain- the king, the Inquisitor, Cullen, Evette, and himself.

 

Connor likes to think he was a clever man, but when he sees Varric waving to him from the stairs, suddenly he realizes what an idiot he can be.  _ Maker’s breath, this is a setup, _ he realizes.  _ They could have let me in on the game, too. _ With a cough, he picks up the pitcher of ale to refill his mug, his eyes going comically wide. “Oh Maker,” he says. “It’s empty. I’ll go fill it, shall I? Be back, Vette,” he says cheerfully, patting her shoulder as he rises. “You stay here, win back all my money, all right?”

 

Evette squints at him, suspicious. “Be quick, Pup,” she says, watching him run as fast as his legs will carry him. She makes her final play, winning the game, and raises her eyebrows at Cullen. “Well, Rutherford, it looks like you’re in my debt,” she says, her cool tone carrying a hint of playfulness. 

 

“Well, that’s nothing new,” Cullen sighs and lays his cards down in defeat. “My lady?” he asks, looking to the Inquisitor. “Is everything all right?”

 

Grace looks as if she’s suddenly realized her hair is on fire and jumps to her feet. “Maker’s breath!” she swears. “Cullen, I completely forgot to go over the lyrium order, and it was supposed to go out today!”

 

“What?” he asks in a panicked voice. “Inquisitor, our templars-”

 

“Are going to kill me,” she adds. “You have to come help. Maybe we can find a runner to send it out! I’m sorry, Evette, can we talk tomorrow? I really have to go,” she says, grabbing Cullen’s hand and pulling him down the stairs. “Goodnight!”

 

Evette raises an eyebrow as the Inquisitor and her Commander disappear, leaving her alone with the king. “You aren’t very subtle, your Majesty,” she comments, sitting back.

 

"I don't know what you mean," he murmurs, staring at his cards harder than necessary.

 

"Oh? Am I supposed to believe you and the Inquisitor didn't set this up?"

 

Alistair grins cheerfully and shuffles the cards. “You always said it wasn’t my strong point, Vette,” he chirps.

 

“Have you been throwing the hands as well?” she asks cooly, taking the cards to deal. “Or is it merely bad luck?”

 

He chuckles, looking down at his hand. “How can anyone focus with you around, Vette?” he asks, making a play. “You’re so cold you’re fogging up the room.”

 

“Fair enough,” she says, and she takes the card he’s thrown away. “I was hoping the cold would ease the swelling of your head, your Majesty.”

 

“I asked you to call me Alistair.”

 

“And I don’t care,  _ Majesty _ .”

 

Alistair whistles at the insult before giving her a charming smile. “Still sharp as ever, I see. How have you been, Vette?”

 

“Pup and I do well enough on our own,” she answers, staring boldly at him. “We travel, do what we can to ease a person's troubles when the chance arises.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Pup’s letters are regular, are they?”

 

Alistair chuckles and shakes his head. “Nothing gets by you, does it? Vette, I wanted to talk about-”

 

“I was grieved to hear of the queen’s passing,” she says, stopping him before he has a chance to talk about their shared history. 

 

“Were you? That’s an idea I  _ didn’t _ have,” he tells her, voice hardening. “You two hated one another.”

 

“We...talked,” she explains as the card game goes back and forth. “The night before I left. I did not wish death upon her, only...the same unhappiness I felt myself.”

 

“You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” The words are harsh, but his soft expression and the gentle tone tell her he doesn’t mean it. 

 

“Yes, I’m almost certain I am,” she says, her own voice growing gentle. “I asked her to be kind, but she gave me no indication she would grant such a small request.”

 

“We got on well enough for a while,” he says gruffly, and she can see his struggle to hide whatever emotion he had left for his dead wife. “We tried, and for a while, it was enough. The losses, though...that changed things. Three babes just...gone. She couldn’t take it after that, and we quit trying. It wasn’t long before she got sick.”

 

Evette almost flinches when pity stabs her heart. “That kind of loss would change the _best_ of marriages, Majesty.”

 

“Wynne said it was the taint,” he says softly, glaring at his cards before throwing them down angrily. “They couldn’t-” He breaks off, swallowing hard and rubbing his eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry, Alistair.”

 

The words hang between them for a long moment.  _ Sorry? For Anora? For him? For...everything? _ She wonders, watching him. She hates to admit it, but seeing him again stirs up all kinds of emotions she thought had been safely locked away. When he finally looks up at her, his eyes are wide and red.

 

“You called me Alistair.”

 

Swallowing hard, Evette lays out her cards in a final play, losing the game. “I suppose I’m not as cold as we all thought,” she mutters, scooping up her winnings and running from the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After scheming to get alone with their love interests, Grace and Alistair rehash the evening.

Grace gives the king a self-satisfied smile when he strolls into breakfast the next morning. “That went better than I’d hoped,” she says. 

 

“I have to agree,” he says smugly, sitting down with a plate overflowing with food. “Your lyrium story, was it true?”

 

“Of course not,” she laughs. “I’d never put pleasure above the safety of my men. By the time Cullen and I were going over the order in my office, he’d completely forgotten the game entirely.”

 

Alistair nods in appreciation. “Did you...ah...get what you wanted?”

 

“I made certain he knew my feelings,” she says with an impish smile. “Did you?”

 

Alistair’s eyes light up as Connor and Evette appear in the hall, talking quietly while they fill their plates at the tables along the side of the hall. “Something like that,” he murmurs. “I had my work cut out for me the first time, now I have...everything else to deal with.”

 

“What happened between you?” Grace asks.

 

Alistair sighs and toys with his food. “You know I asked her to be my mistress, she said no, and went back to the Circle. I waited a year before going to see her- I said I needed to discuss something confidential with the First Enchanter, but really I was there to see her and check on Connor. We argued, and I begged her to go back to Denerim with me. She refused, and things got...heated.”

 

“ _ Heated? _ ” she snorts. “Really?”

 

He chuckles, pointing at her mockingly. “All right, it was chilling, but you can’t deny me that one. Did you know she’s not really an ice mage? She’s a master elementalist,” he explains, eyes following her to a seat at the long table. “She can control all the elements, but water and ice are what she specializes in. Wynne once told me that it was because when she was a child, her parents left her on the chantry steps in the middle of a snowstorm.”

 

“That’s horrible.”

 

He shrugs. “I don’t even know if that’s true. Evette has no memory of it, all she remembers is the Circle- she was only four. Anyway, she can control fire,” he says, getting back on track. “And is pretty good at it, too. It used to be what kept the ice from making her too cold.”

 

“What do you think happened?”

 

A guilty look crosses his face. “I did,” he says softly, looking down at his plate. “It’s a long story, but by the time I got to the Circle to check on her, all the warmth I’d found in her was gone. According to Connor, she suffered in Kinloch Hold, and...and I didn’t save her,” he says, his voice a rough whisper. “Now that I know more- know what she went through- I feel even worse about it. I could have freed the Circle in Ferelden, done  _ anything _ to make their lives easier, and I didn’t, because I was afraid of what the Divine would do.”

 

Grace covers his hand with hers and looks into his wounded eyes. “I’m sure there’s a lot she doesn’t understand, either,” she says softly. “Alistair, now that you’ve had a moment with her alone, do you think her feelings for you are still there?”

 

He raises his head and stares at the silver-eyed mage in question, jaw clenching. “I’m certain of it,” he tells her. “I just have to break through all that ice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A frustratingly short chapter, I know, but the next one will make up for it in humor, I think.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evette reunites with an old friend, and Connor gets the know the Inner Circle a bit better.

Evette raises her eyebrows at Leliana’s smile. “I’m sorry, Vette,” the spymaster is saying. “I just couldn’t get away yesterday afternoon. But you and the Commander had a nice ride, didn’t you? You seemed terribly happy when you came back, and I heard you had a great time at the card game.”

 

One of the crows lands on her shoulder and Evette chirps at it. “It was nice,” she agrees, blowing the bird a kiss. “But don’t think I can’t see through your little game.”

 

Leliana pretends shock, blue eyes widening and her mouth hanging open. “Game? What game, Warden?”

 

Evette smirks, petting the bird’s head gently. “At least you have the decency to look surprised. What’s your goal?”

 

“I only wanted-” She stops when a bird soars into the rookery. “What’s this? I wasn’t expecting anything.”

 

Evette notices the blue ribbon holding the message to its leg. “Right. More of your meddling?”

 

Leliana unrolls the note and reads quickly, her face lighting up. “Vette! Vette look at this!” she squeals, dancing over to her friend. “Someone wants to see you!”

 

Evette takes the note, frowning at it.  _ Evette, come to the mage's tower. I need to see you, _ it reads, and she rolls her eyes.

 

“Whose writing is this?” Leliana asks, confused. “It isn’t from Cullen.”

 

“Oh, that’s just Pup,” Evette says. “He enjoys dramatics.”

 

Leliana snorts and gives the bird a treat. “Where did he get that? Certainly not from you.”

 

“I have no idea,” she says innocently. “Excuse me, Leliana, I should see what he wants.”

 

When she reaches the tower, Connor is outside, dancing with excitement. “You’ll never guess who I’ve found!” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside with him. 

 

“What’s going on, Pup? Who have you found?” she asks, smiling fondly at his enthusiasm.

 

“Fiona!” he says, stopping short in front of a short elven woman. 

 

“ _ Grand Enchanter Fiona?” _ Evette asks in shock. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Thank the Maker,” the older mage gasped, clutching her hand. “You’re truly alive and safe. I wasn’t sure, your last message said you’d gone to Kirkwall-”

 

“We never made it,” Evette said, glad she was wearing gloves. “Ever since the Circle fell, the city guard has been limiting visitors no matter the reason. We never even found a ship to take us.”

 

“So you never found him?” she asks, disappointment weighing her voice. "Or Rhys either?"

 

Evette shakes her head. “Not yet, but we haven’t stopped looking.”

 

Connor grins like a self-satisfied child and pushes Evette toward a chair. “I thought you’d like to see her,” he explains. “You ladies catch up, I’ll go entertain myself  _ somehow. _ ”

 

Evette and Fiona both ignore him as they sit, talking in low tones, so he takes the opportunity to go wander around Skyhold, and stumbles across Varric Tethras quite soon. “Hello, Master Tethras,” he says happily. “What are you doing this fine day?”

 

“Hoping I could find your mentor, actually,” the dwarf answers, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. “I’d like to interview her.”

 

“Well, you’re sadly out of luck,” Connor informs him. “I’ve just reunited her with an old friend, and I doubt she’ll be pulled away any time soon.”

 

Varric grins and shrugs. “That’s all right. Mind if I talk with you a bit? Get an overall idea of her before speaking with the legend herself? I’ll buy the drinks.”

 

Connor shrugs and follows him into the tavern, where they are quickly joined by a Qunari named The Iron Bull and a man called Blackwall. Several hours of drinking, note taking, and stories pass before they part, and Connor promises to bring her to Varric soon for that interview. Drunk, he stumbles around looking for her, unsure of where she might be by now. 

 

“Oh Pup,” he says in a high pitch, imitating her. “You’re  _ so _ talented and  _ so _ smart, I’m going to let  _ you _ decide where we go next!”

 

“Who, me?” he answers himself in a low rumbling voice. “Well, I vote we stay right here!”

 

“But Pup,” the falsetto answers. “I can’t stay. You know I’m still in love with the king, and I can’t control myself around him.”

 

“Aww, Vette, that’s sweet, but it’s time to be an adult and-”

 

Suddenly he runs into what must be a wall, bouncing off and falling to the ground. “Hey,” he slurs, staring up and realizing it’s a man he’s run into. “You’re not Evette. Or a wall.”

 

The Commander- Rutherford, wasn’t it?- chuckles and helps him to his feet. “I’m afraid not,” he says, dusting him off. “Are you lost, Connor?”

 

Connor blearily surveys his surroundings, spinning around too fast. “I don’t know. Where’s Evette?” he asks, suddenly fearful for his mentor. “I can’t find her!”

 

“Oh Pup,” he hears, and an icy hand touches his cheek. “I’m right here.”

 

“Vette,” he says, throwing himself to the ground and hugging her knees. “I found you! Where have you been?”

 

Cool laughter floats down to him, and he feels a chill as her fingers card through his hair. “I see your new friend has gotten you utterly pissed and left you to your own devices.”

 

“Varric’s a good man,” Connor says, still wrapped around her legs.

 

“Pup, you really need to get up,” she advises. “You’re sitting in the snow, and you’ll make me fall.”

 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” he slurs happily. 

 

Evette looks helplessly at Cullen, who laughs and crouches next to the young man. “Now Connor,” he says sensibly. “Wouldn’t this be more comfortable for both of you if you were inside?”

 

“No,” he says cheerfully. “She likes the cold.”

 

“I don't  like _this_. Everyone’s watching, Pup,” she pleads, but her tone is almost warm for him. 

 

Still grinning, Cullen tries to get Connor’s attention. “Connor, what about-”

 

No one quite sees what Connor does, but suddenly Evette is falling toward Cullen with a small cry. Instincts take over, and he plucks her out of the air, saving her from a face-first plunge into the snow and moving her out of Connor’s reach at the same time. Laughing, he stumbles back, almost falling himself, and holds her close for security. Her momentary warmth is gone and she stiffens in his arms, her expression going blank as a frost covers Cullen’s breastplate.

 

On her way out of the main hall, Grace stops in place, watching Cullen scoop up Warden Amell, laughing and holding her out of her drunken apprentice’s reach. Her heart drops into her stomach, watching him hold her close.  _ She doesn’t seem so cold to him, _ she thinks bitterly, watching Evette Amell scold Alistair’s cousin from the safety of Cullen’s embrace.  _And just what is that supposed to mean, after last night? I thought..._

 

“Ah, young love rekindled,” Josephine sighs beside her, shielding her candle from the cold wind. “It’s a lovely thing, yes?”

 

“Young love?” Grace asks, tearing her gaze away from the scene below to look at Josephine. “What do you mean?”

 

“The Commander and the Warden were...sweethearts...in their younger days,” her ambassador says with a smile. “Leliana hopes they can put aside their pasts and renew their relationship. You don’t have any objections to the match, do you, Inquisitor?”

 

“What? Why would I have- it’s not as if- I don’t…”  _Maker's breath! Have I been seducing him only to marry him off to someone else?_

 

Josephine cocks an eyebrow at her questioningly. “I should hope not, as you are soon to be engaged to the King of Ferelden if the talks proceed favorably. My lady, do not forget, you need to be married, and quite soon if we are to keep Orlesian support and gain Ferelden.”

 

“Yes,” Grace says quietly, turning away. “I understand, Josie. Let’s go.”

 

In the courtyard below, Cullen quickly puts Evette on her feet, willing himself not to shiver violently. “I apologize, Amell,” he says quickly.

 

Evette glares at Connor, currently lying in the snow and staring at the sky unblinking. “Pup, to your feet,  _ now, _ ” she orders, her voice so sharp it could cut. “This nonsense is over.”

 

“I can’t, my lady,” Connor moans, holding his eyes open with his hands. “I can’t move.”

 

“Could I be of assistance?”

 

_ Maker’s breath. It can always get worse, _ she thinks as King Alistair approaches with an amused grin. “You can,” she says, waving to Connor, “get your drunk slob of a cousin to his bed.”

 

“Anything for a pretty girl,” Alistair says, and hauls Connor to his feet. “What are you doing, man?” he asks, watching Connor’s eyes water from being held open in the cold.

 

“Not blinking,” Connor says factually as he stumbles and bumps against the king.

 

“Blink, Pup,” Evette sighs, knowing from experience what’s coming.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“What  _ is _ he doing?” Cullen asks, walking beside her as they follow the king. 

 

A hint of a smile plays on her lips, and she holds up a hand. “Just wait.”

 

“Connor,  _ blink _ for the Maker’s sake,” Alistair is saying. “Your eyes are going to fall out!”

 

“I can’t!” Connor argues, tears streaming from bloodshot eyes.

 

“If I close my eyes,” Evette whispers softly to Cullen, “my brain can't breathe.”

 

“Why not?” Alistair asks, laughing as they stumble through the crowded hall.

 

“If I close my eyes my brain can't breathe!”

 

Several feet away, Varric, The Iron Bull, and Blackwall all burst into laughter, falling over themselves. Evette shoots Varric a look and points at him. “This is your fault,” she says, and the mug in the dwarf’s hand freezes solid. To his surprise, it sticks to his hand instantly

 

“For that line, Snowbelle, it’s worth the frostbite,” Varric chortles, shaking his hand and trying to get the mug off. "I'll take my lumps."

 

“Snowbelle?” she asks Cullen as they hurry to catch with the Connor and Alistair.

 

“Varric likes to give people nicknames,” he explains. “Like Curly.”

 

Her lips quirk in a quick grin as they pass through a door and start upstairs. “Pup, you aren’t going to be sick, are you?”

 

“Who knows?” the young man sings, changing pitches. “Who  _ knows _ ? Whoooooooo knooooooooows?”

 

“Oh Maker,” she groans and lifts her skirts higher. “Your Majesty, I apologize if-”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When asked to help Cullen with a training exercise for his men, Evette jumps at the chance for a little excitement, but Connor has reservations at pitting the Hero of Ferelden against Skyhold's troops.

The next few days pass nicely for Evette, who spends the time talking with the mages of Skyhold, giving Varric his promised interview, and avoiding the king at all costs. The last isn’t easily done, as he keeps showing up in the strangest of places- the rookery, under the excuse of sending a letter; the library, looking for Varric’s  _ Hard in Hightown _ ; and Cullen’s office, where both he and the Inquisitor find ample reason to barge in and interrupt their conversations.

 

Her favorite moment, however, is when Commander Rutherford asks her to help train his men. She suggests they all go outside of Skyhold, and as soon as the men start moving, they quickly gain an audience.

 

“Are you quite sure of this, Warden?” the Inquisitor asks as they ride out into the frozen landscape. “You don’t need any backup?”

 

Evette smiles politely and shakes her head. “No, my lady, I don’t. I’m quite certain this will be an educational experience for many- the Pup included, he’s never gone against a large force on his own before.”

 

Cullen leads them to a vast open area, and Evette waits patiently while the Inquisitor, her inner circle, Connor, and King Alistair all settled down on fallen logs, wrapped in cloaks and blankets. She, alternately, is dressed simply: a wool dress, sturdy boots, and gloves. With her long hair blowing in the chill breeze, she looks utterly harmless.

 

“Uh, sir,” one of the men says, frowning. “Do you really expect us to just...attack her?”

 

Cullen nods, hands resting easily on the hilt of his sword. “I do, cadet. Is that a problem?”

 

“Sir...she’s unarmed,” the man says. “Not even a staff. Or a cloak for that matter.”

 

Evette sees Cullen’s smug grin as he moves to stand in front of his men. “This  _ is  _ a training exercise,” he reminds them, pacing casually. “Not all of our enemies will look like a red templar or darkspawn magister, some of them will look like innocent, pretty girls. And," he adds seriously, "this  _ is _ the Hero of Ferelden. I assure you, she will be perfectly fine.”

 

"But Ser Cullen..." another says nervously. "It don't feel right to attack an unarmed opponent."

 

Rolling her eyes, she turns to Connor. “Pup, give me your staff,” she says, holding her hand out.

 

He carries it over, grinning. “Don’t you think it will be more impressive without it?”

 

“The purpose isn’t to impress anyone,” she reminds him with a stern look. “It’s to help them learn how to defend themselves against a mage in combat. You could stand to pay attention yourself.”

 

He looks pointedly at Cullen, then at the king. “Not impressing anyone,” he repeats, battling a grin. “Right.”

 

She shots tiny icicles at his feet, making him leap back with a surprised shout. “Go on, you irritating pup.”

 

“You’re fired,” he laughs, dancing away. "I wonder if Dorian would like a companion."

 

"He can have you, but I'll tell him you aren't housebroken," she retorts as he returns to sit by the king. Turning to the soldiers gathered before her, Evette opens her arms, looking for all the world like a harmless traveler. “I’m ready when you are, gentlemen.”

 

A warcry goes up, and ten men rush her. Before they get close enough to use their weapons, a wall of ice bursts from the ground between them. Evette spins the staff around, pointing to another group on her left, and the sky erupts in lightning arcing over their heads. A few men cry out as they receive harmless shocks to their hands or noses, but she doesn't stop. The butt of the staff slams to the ground, and pure magical energy ripples through the snow, throwing anyone near back several feet. On the other side of the ice wall, they can hear men attempt to break through, chipping away with swords and maces until they can group together to rush it.

 

Alistair watches closely as the battle begins. “The last time I saw something like this was during the Battle of Denerim,” he says softly, leaning forward as she slams her staff to the ground a second time, causing a small quake. “Connor, does she do battle often?”

 

“No, Majesty,” Connor answers, his voice anxious for his teacher. “We endeavor to stay  _ out  _ of fights.”

 

“Why is that?” Grace asks between them. “She seems formidable, I can't imagine she goes unchallenged.”

 

"She doesn't," Connor nods, swallowing hard as her wall of ice is shattered and men run toward her with swords bared. “It just never goes well for the challenger. Maker's breath! I better go help,” he adds, getting to his feet.

 

“She seems to be doing fine,” Alistair says, unable to look away from her as she spins around confidently, her spell freezing them in place with one hand and calling up a wind to swirl into the eyes of men on her left. Watching her defend herself is like watching one of the sword dancers from Antiva, thrilling and beautiful.

 

“I mean help  _ them, _ ” Connor explains, moving closer to Cullen.

 

“You don’t think she’ll kill any of them, do you?” Cullen asks softly. “I can pull them out and end it.”

 

“No, but I can’t promise she won’t lose control,” Connor whispers, licking his lips. “Commander, we don’t get into fights because...well, sometimes she can’t stop. She has an incredible wealth of mana,” he explains. "She could keep this up for days if she wanted."

 

Evette laughs, the sound chilling Connor’s blood as it floats across the field and she throws the staff to the ground. Closing her eyes, she builds her concentration, opening her arms as she begins to lift from the ground. As soon as her eyes open, the sky tears open in a sudden, intense snowstorm. Wind howls and snow blinds the men as they fight to move forward against the blizzard, totally contained to the field of battle. Ten feet in the air, Evette is surrounded in a corona of swirling snow and light, looking to all like a vengeful goddess.

 

The crowd watching collectively gasp or cry out in shock, and suddenly Connor is  _ very _  relieved. "Well, she can't keep it up now."

 

“Commander…?” the Inquisitor says, approaching with the king. “Cullen, we can’t let them get intentionally hurt.”

 

“Wait, Inquisitor,” Connor suggests, watching Evette weaves spells in the air, no staff needed, slow enough that men are able to dodge and deflect. “Look how slow she's going, all they really have to do is withstand the storm. She won’t hurt them,” he promises as more ice walls appear, brittle enough that the soldiers can shatter them with a few blows of their shields. “She’ll wear out soon,” he explains, watching her closely as a final wall of ice grows around her in a protective shell.

 

“That’s incredible,” the Inquisitor whispers, wide-eyed. “Is this what she was like in Denerim?”

 

“No,” Alistair says softly. “She was... _ more _ .”

 

As quickly as it began, the blizzard dies, and Evette falls to the ground like a stone in the sudden silence.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Evette's display of power during the training exercise, a conversation between her and Alistair gets heated. Dorian and Grace talk about jealousy and how to make Cullen see things clearly.

The first thing she notices is the near-unbearable warmth, followed quickly by the scent of leather and horse. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know that she’s in Alistair’s arms: she’d know his embrace even if she were dead.  _ We must be riding back to Skyhold, _ she thinks. 

 

They’d ridden like this once before, with her across his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. Then, she’d pressed her face to his throat, eager for his warmth and delighting in the sensation of her cool lips on his hot skin. His arms hold her as securely now as they had then, and she can hear him laughing and talking with Connor about the exercise, his voice a deep, comforting rumble in his chest.

 

Part of her desperately wants to pull away, to ride behind Connor, to walk- to do  _ anything _ except be this close to her former lover. But some other part- the deeper, more emotional part she’s hidden away from the world- pulls her back into the dark warmth of sleep and she presses her face to his chest, letting herself pretend for just a moment that her world isn't so lonely.

 

“She’s flushed, you don’t think something’s wrong do you?” Alistair asks Connor, glancing down at the mage in his arms. Evette’s normally pale face sports two bright circles of red on her cheeks, and another on the tip of her nose. 

 

Connor moves his horse closer, leaning over to look. “No, she’s fine,” he assures him. “That’s just her responding to the warmth of your body. But I can take her if she’s too cold…?”

 

“No,” Alistair says softly, tucking his cloak closer around them. “No, she’s fine.”

 

He’d been the first person not involved in the exercise to reach her, his heart hammering as he searched for a pulse or breath. His hands had shaken until Leliana had finally pushed his hands away and found her pulse, assuring them she had only fainted from the strain of using so much magic so quickly. He’d scooped her into his arms, wrapped his cloak around them, and not let her go since.  After so many years, holding her was more intoxicating than any liquor. He ignored the Inquisition’s lady ambassador’s curious looks and Leliana’s whispered questions in favor of paying acute attention to the rise and fall of her chest and the flutter of her lashes against her cheek.  _ She’s so beautiful, _ he thinks, breathing in the scent of her hair.  _ And to think we threw it all away. _

 

Grace rides near Dorian, struggling against the urge to drag Cullen away for a stern lecture.  _ Why would he put a  _ **_guest_ ** _ in such a position? _ She fumes.  _ Hero of Ferelden or not, she could have been seriously hurt. They all could have been hurt. And now he's going to be attentive because they're sweethearts again. _

 

“My, what a storm you must have going on up there,” Dorian muses. “Let me guess: jealousy?”

 

“Jealousy?” she squeaks in surprise. “Why would I be jealous?”

 

“There's a legend who is more beautiful than the stories say and more powerful than imagined shyly winning hearts all over Skyhold,” he explains with a smug grin. “And rumor has it she's been spending an awful lot of time in the arms of our two most eligible bachelors.”

 

“Dorian, I- you can't- I hate you,” she mutters.

 

“My dear, you've been pining for  _ years _ . Either jump or get off the ledge.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Cullen, you ninny,” he chuckles. “Tell him how you feel, I’m sure you aren’t the only one hiding their feelings over some ridiculous notion of  _ duty. _ ”

 

"I  _did,_ " she groans. "The other night, after we all played cards. Maker's breath, Dorian, we almost had sex on his desk!"

 

"That's a delicious visual, my dear. Perhaps you should make sure the  _almost_ part really happens," he suggests, quirking a brow. "I'm almost certain it would alleviate both your...frustrations."

 

“Oh Maker, it's  _ that _ obvious?” she groans, turning bright red. 

 

Dorian chuckles. “To everyone but the Commander himself. Now if you can walk into his office and ply your charms in order to get a kiss or three, you can tell him that you want more from him, can’t you?”

 

"I can apparently talk all I want and he doesn't hear me."

 

"So use those lovely lips of yours in a different way, Grace."

#####  **_***_ **

The scent of mint tickles her nose, drawing her out of sleep. The intolerable warmth from earlier is gone, replaced by a much more refreshing cold breeze. She opens her eyes slowly, unsure of what to expect in a room utterly silent beyond the crackle of a fire and the sound of the wind in the window.

 

The fire in the grate is the only light in the room, and the stars beyond the windowpane tell her of the late hour. The door connecting her room to Connor’s is open, but the room beyond is dark. She shifts, turning to her side, and sees Alistair, sleeping in the only comfortable chair in the room. His doublet and boots are gone, presumably tossed to the floor somewhere, and his feet are up on the bed.

 

_ He’s here? Why? _

 

She takes the opportunity to study him closely without him staring back at her and making her uncomfortable. The years she spent hiding her heart away have been hard on him as well; even relaxed in sleep his face bears lines deep with worry and responsibility. All his boyish good looks have deepened into a handsomeness as sharp as a blade, and a part of her wishes his destiny had been gentler with him.

 

Wishes  _ she'd _ been gentler with him.

 

“Uh-oh, I know that look,” he says suddenly, eyes closed. 

 

“You're awake,” she gasps.

 

“You're either upset with me, in love with me, or curious about me,” he continues, opening one eye to a hazel slit. “Or any number of things. Your expressions are all the same.”

 

“They are not,” she argues, trying not to be pleased with his teasing. His quick grin makes her stomach flutter, and she frowns at the sensation. 

 

“So which is it? Anger, love, or other?”

 

_ All of them. _

 

The thought surprises her, and she covers her mouth before she can say the words aloud. “Curious,” she decides, keeping her fingertips pressed to her lips.

 

Alistair spreads his arms wide. “I am an open book, my lady Warden. What would you have me tell you?”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I was invited for the ball, same as you.”

 

“My  _ room _ , your Majesty.”

 

His smile settles into his face as if its been waiting for a chance to shine, making him look younger. “Because you were hurt, and I wanted to make certain you were taken care of.”

 

“I was not hurt, and Pup could have seen to me.”

 

Alistair laughs. “Oh, Pup spent a lot of time flipping through a book, sighing, and reminding me that you were overheated and needed a window open.”

 

“You didn’t need to stay,” she says, looking away and sitting up in bed. “I’m better now.”

 

“I _wanted_ to watch over you, Vette,” he says, his gentle tone catching her off guard. “Like we used to watch over each other.”

 

“Your Majesty, that's ridiculous,” she says testily.

 

“Would you like to know something else ridiculous?” he asks. She doesn't answer, so he puts his feet down and leans forward, taking her hand in his. “I'm in love with you.”

 

“Then you're a fool,” she snaps, snatching her hand away.

 

“According to you and Morrigan I always have been,” he laughs. “Vette, I-”

 

“No,” she says, turning her face away and filling the room with a chill. “Go away.”

 

“Vette-”

 

“ _ No,” _ she repeats, and this time her voice is so cold he shivers involuntarily. “Just go.”

 

With a growl of frustration, he grabs his boots and doublet, stalking to the door. “One day you're going to wake up and see what you've done to yourself,” he says, and his anger is so palpable Evette can feel the heat of it like a roaring fire. “One day you're going to quit being so damn afraid and let someone love you.”

 

“I did, remember?” she snaps. “And what did it get me?”

 

“Things are different now.”

 

“Not between us.”

 

His face softens, and he sighs. “Nothing's different for me, Vette. Nothing changed for me.”

 

“It is for me.”  _ You never made life better, _ she accuses silently, glaring at him.  _ You said you loved me, but you didn’t try and help me or the mages at all. We had to rebel to be free. _

 

He nods and straightens his shoulders. “Then I'm just going to have to prove myself, won't I?”

 

“And how do you plan to do that, exactly?” she asks as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

  
On the other side of the door, he leans against the wall and pinches the bridge of his nose.  _ How  _ **_am_ ** _ I going to do that? _


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace's seduction of Cullen is stalled, so she changes tactics and decides to confront Evette herself during a holiday event.

__

Grace paces, hands behind her back and muttering to herself. “What do you think, Varric?” she asks finally.

 

“I think I’ve been given the short end of the stick considering the view this side of Skyhold has,” he says from the balcony. “This is insane, Graceless. I’d never leave my desk if I could look out at this.”

 

“About the  _ plan _ Varric?”

 

He shrugs, backing into the room and closing the doors. “It’s a plan,” he says vaguely. “It gets all the main characters in place and leaves a little room for drama. Mind if I borrow the plot? Cassandra might appreciate a new romance novel.”

 

“Varric,” Grace sighs, pushing her hair out of the way. “Help me out, please.”

 

He chuckles and turns to her. “I think it’s a good plan,” he tells her. “You and Snowbelle will have fun. But are you really going to ask the fearsome Hero of Ferelden if she and Curly are still sweet on each other?”

 

She looks uncertain, twisting her hands in front of her. “I don’t think I have any other choice really. Anytime I bring it up with Cullen he just blushes and stammers, and...I need to know.”

 

"Still burning that torch?"

 

"Shut up, Varric."

 

He shrugs and heads for the door, laughing all the way. “Do it. I think it’ll be fun.”

#####  **_***_ **

Evette followed Leliana, curiosity growing as they headed up the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters. "Leliana, what is this?" she asks.    


  
"Grace asked me to bring you," she explains. "She’s getting ready for the tournament and can’t leave her room."   


  
"Do you know what she wants?"   


  
"Evette!" Grace squeals as soon as they top the stairs, cutting off any reply Leliana might have made. "Thank you so much for indulging me and coming along, Josephine won't let me out of here," she laughs.   


  
The young woman is currently wearing only her small clothes and golden slippers. Her hair is artfully braided down her back with wisps charmingly falling against her throat. In the corner is a gorgeous black and gold gown trimmed with incredibly small symbols of the Inquisition along the hem and wide bell-shaped sleeves.   


  
"My lady is that your dress for today? You’ll look lovely!" Evette says, smiling brightly.   


  
Grace waves a hand carelessly, ignoring the exquisite gown and pulling her over to the wardrobe. “Josie had several made,” she explains and draws a deep red gown out. “I thought you might like being part of our little play. I’m in desperate need of a lady-in-waiting.”

****

Evette hesitates. The tournament is a small one, made up of the templars and knights of Skyhold divided into teams. The jousting and hand to hand competitions are styled after the old Orlesian chivalric tales of maidens in distress and knights in shining armor come to rescue them- a lovely bit of fluff and fun perfect for the holiday. Cullen had been complaining of having to play the champion to Blackwall’s villainous uncle, who has kidnapped the princess- played by the Inquisitor herself- just the day before, and if she’d heard correctly, King Alistair was to play the hero that would inevitably win the day.

****

The idea of joining in the scheme terrifies her.

****

“Ah...my lady...I’m afraid I cannot,” she stammers, clasping her hands behind her. “I don’t know any speeches, or-”   
  


“Oh Vette, you don’t have to say anything,” Leliana assures her. “Just sit with the Inquisitor and play along. Josie and I will have our hands full, or one of us would do it.”

****

“Exactly,” Grace adds with a bright smile. “Just keep me company, that’s all. Oh please, Evette,” she wheedles. "We'll drink wine and eat sweets and laugh all day."

****

Evette strokes the heavy velvet of the gown, thinking of how beautiful she would feel wearing such a garment. “I...I suppose so,” she relents.

****

Grace squeals and throws her arms around Evette in excitement. “Thank you!” she cries as the mage goes stiff. “Oh, Maker!” she gasps, pulling away and shivering. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot! Please forgive me, Evette.”

****

Evette shakes her hands out of their frost-covered fists and tries to smile. “No, I apologize, my lady,” she says, stepping back and letting her face fall into its typical blank expression. “It is my fault. Did I hurt you?”

****

“Oh...um, no,” the Inquisitor says softly, checking herself over. 

****

Evette nods, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, not willing to meet anyone’s eyes.

****

Grace comes forward again and puts a hand on her arm. “Evette,  _ I’m _ sorry,” she says. “Sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be well-behaved. You’ve done nothing wrong here-  _ I  _ did. Can you forgive me?”

****

Evette looks up at Grace- younger, prettier, and far braver than she’s ever been, and offers a shy smile. “Yes.”

****

The Inquisitor’s smile is blinding, and she squeezes Evette’s arm gently. “There, all settled. Now, shall you wear the red or the blue? Personally, I think the blue would compliment you better...”

**_***_ **

“Hello, gentlemen,” Josephine says brightly as she enters Cullen’s office with an armful of clothing and masks. “I have your costumes.”

 

Alistair and Cullen watch her closely, suspicious of the whole game. “Are you sure this won’t be a security problem, Josephine?” Cullen asks, trying his best to come up with some reason not to participate.

 

“Nonsense, there is no one in Skyhold we did not invite, and the men participating in the tournament have all been hand-picked by you,” she reminds him. “This is a  _ game _ , Commander, but there will still be guards on the Inquisitor, and Warden Amell and Blackwall will be at her side should trouble arise.”

 

“You got  _ Evette _ in this pantomime?” Alistair laughs. “How?”

 

Josephine’s eyes sparkle as she hands him a costume. “I didn’t. Grace did. It seems much can be accomplished with a little kindness where that woman is concerned.”

 

Alistair nods, remembering how he had won her trust so long ago. “You’re right, Lady Montilyet,” he murmurs. “Kindness is exactly what she needs.”

 

#####  **_***_ **

 

Behind her mask, Grace laughs uproariously as the Villain’s Champion is thwarted and lands into a large puddle of mud and freezing slush. Beside her, Evette watches with a smile, wondering how dreadful the blow must be to Cullen’s pride as he flounders, splashing mud over his men and making the crowd laugh harder.

 

“Poor Cullen,” Grace giggles, exhausted with glee. “He’ll be in a sour state for the ball tonight.”

 

“I’m sure you’re correct, my lady,” Evette answers, her eyes sparkling with amusement as the men help their commander to his feet and they all trudge back for another joust set. “Whoever shall I dance with then? I fear he's the only one brave enough to try.”

 

“Oh, Cullen  _ never _ dances,” Grace says softly. “I’ve only ever known him to do so once, and that was at the Winter Palace.”

 

“Oh? Was it with you?”

 

Evette may not be able to see beneath the Inquisitor’s mask, but she can almost feel the heat of her blush radiating off her. “Yes,” she whispers. “Evette, can I ask you something?”

 

“We aren’t exactly alone,” she warns, leaning closer. “But yes, you may.”

 

“Do you have romantic feelings for Cullen?”

 

Evette pats the Inquisitor’s arm gently, watching the first pair of riders begin. “I do like your frankness, Grace,” she tells her, not even a little surprised. “It’s something I understand. I would be lost amongst these Orleasians and their Great Game.”

 

“And yet here you are, avoiding my question,” she counters.

 

“No, I do not have romantic feelings for him,” Evette assures her. “We were sweethearts a long time ago, and through no real fault of our own, that was destroyed. Even if I  _ wanted _ him, there is a place in him I cannot reach, simply for being who I am.”

 

Grace’s golden mask turns to her, and she can hear the soft intake of breath. “You can’t mean that! Evette, he’s changed,” she whispers beneath the crash of wooden lances on silverite and steel. “His feelings towards mages have changed. He wouldn’t have been able to stand by me when I choose to help them otherwise.”

 

“I know. We’ve discussed it. But…” Evette looks away, glad her own mask hides the sudden emotion overwhelming her. “But it was  _ me _ that tortured him, he believed it was me. No amount of healing would ever be able to change that. It is a wall that is always between us, no matter what we wish.”

 

“Oh, Evette…”

 

Waving a hand, Evette blinks rapidly before tears can form. “Please, don’t. We have forgiven one another, but romance is not a path we will walk together, Inquisitor. We are still learning to be friends.”

 

“Can I ask about you and Alistair, then?” Grace asks softly.

 

_ It will always be this way, _ she thinks, closing her eyes and wishing her heart was colder. “There is nothing between us, either. The only man in my life is the Pup.”

 

“He’s still in love with you.”

 

“A boy’s infatuation.”

 

“I mean Alistair,” Grace giggles.

 

Evette shrugs, looking forward to the playing field where Alistair is making an overly dramatic speech. “So do I.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses, promises, and shenanigans abound.

An hour later, Grace sways drunkenly and giggles like a young girl at Alistair. “Oh brave Hero,” she says, her voice carrying over the tournament field. “Thank you-” she hiccups and giggles again, “for saving me from my  _ dreaded _ uncle.”

 

“I wasn’t  _ that _ bad,” Blackwall snorts into his whiskey. “All I wanted was to rule the world and marry the princess.”

 

Grace cuts her eyes at him, then looks back to the hero. “However can I repay you?”

 

Beside her, Evette puts a steadying hand on her arm while Alistair steps forward. “My lady, all I ask for is a simple kiss.”

 

Grace and Evette exchange a confused look before the Inquisitor leans forward. “That’s not the right line,” she says in a surprisingly loud whisper. “You’re supposed to ask for that golden dog statue-thing.”

 

With a wide grin, he leans forward and answers in an equally loud whisper. “Forgive me, Grace, but I’d rather the kiss.”

 

Evette shoots a look to Cullen behind them, who looks far more defeated than the pantomime called for. _Maferath's dusty balls, **d**_ _**o** something Rutherford, _ she thinks.  _ You’ve made a fool of yourself today, and all for her. Once more won’t hurt. _

 

_ Much more, anyway. _

 

As if he can hear her thoughts, Cullen shouts across the field. “A challenge!” 

 

Grace and Alistair turn to look at him in surprise. “A challenge?” Alistair asks. “Rutherford, you just  _ lost _ a challenge.”

 

Red-faced, he rubs the back of his neck. “A hand to hand combat,” he says. “Winner gets a kiss from the Inquisitor.”

 

Alistair grins and shrugs. “I was going to ask for one from the handmaiden,” he says, winking at Evette. “But if she will promise-”

 

“I certainly will  _ not _ promise-” Evette cuts in.

 

“-to reward me after, I’ll be happy to oblige,” Alistair says easily.

 

“A duel!” Varric laughs. “Curly, that's brilliant! It seems, distinguished guests, that we’re to be given a final show! Two Champions battle for love!” He announces, throwing his arms out and addressing the small crowd.

 

“For love?” Grace squeaks, looking a little panicked.

 

“Let’s get you back into your seat,” Evette suggests.

 

“And more wine,” Grace adds, shaking her head. “Love, Evette? They’re dueling for love?”

 

Tucking a blanket over her lap, Evette shakes her head. “I suppose they are, in a way.”

 

The men grandstand loudly for a moment while everywhere else starts placing bets. Varric appears at Evette’s side, looking rather happy about his prospects. “And who would you like to wager on, Snowbelle?”

 

The clash of dulled weapons pulls her attention, and she watches them begin. “Ahh...I don’t think it would be wise to place a bet on either of them.”

 

Varric chuckles and winks. “Just so you know, the Pup bet on his cousin.”

 

“I’m not surprised.”

 

“No one else was either.”

 

Moments later Alistair was on his backside in the slush laughing and Cullen was striding over to the Inquisitor with a broad grin. Grace leaps drunkenly to her feet and throws her arms around Cullen’s neck, pulling him close for a deep kiss.

 

A few feet away Josephine stares in shock as the Inquisitor kisses the Commander like a long-lost lover and the crowd roars in approval. Meeting her eye, Evette makes her way to her side. “I don’t suppose you knew?” she asks.

 

Josephine keeps her expression neutral. “Everyone is aware that they had a flirtation,” she says. “But the marriage contract is still under discussion.”

 

“Oh. I didn’t mean-”

 

“Evette!” Grace grabs her arm and drags her over to the king. “A promise is a promise,” she scolds gently, pushing her toward him.

 

“I didn’t make a promise. He made a promise. To himself.”

 

"Oh, Evette, give in," Grace giggles, nudging her even closer to the king.

 

Face to face with Alistair, Evette’s stomach flips. Sweaty and filthy, he looks absolutely exhausted and happy. He gives her a brilliant smile and reaches for her hand. “Well, Vette?”

  
Evette hesitates, looking around quickly and spotting Blackwall standing on the edge of the platform, doing nothing at all except enjoying his whiskey.  _ Forgive me, Blackwall. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! There was so much love for 11 that I threw in some fun just for my lovely readers! Enjoy!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair makes a very public- and very personal- announcement at the Satinalia ball.

Later that evening, Evette and Connor enter the stuffy main hall arm-in-arm for the grand ball Lady Montilyet had planned. “I can’t believe you pushed Blackwall off the platform!” Connor laughs. 

 

“Well, the  _ hero _ was supposed to win,” she says cooly, nodding to the visiting nobility as they pass. “Someone had to fix it after that disastrous duel.”

 

“Don’t you think freezing him in a puddle from the ankle down was a little extreme?” Connor chortles.

 

“I certainly did,” the man in question replies, approaching with a small bow.

 

Evette gives him a pretty smile. “I do apologize, Blackwall, but it is as I said,  _ someone _ had to make sure the hero won.”

 

“According to Alistair, he lost,” Connor laughs. “He’s been pouting all day because you wouldn’t give him a kiss.”

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time I refused to kiss him,” she says airily, looking away with feigned amusement.

 

Blackwall smiles warmly. “A Grey Warden does what she must,” he agrees. “Might I steal you away from your young man for a dance?”

 

“You can steal her away for more than one,” Connor quips and pushes her towards him. “I’ll see you around, Vette. And  _ have fun, _ ” he instructs.

 

Bewildered, Evette watches him go, her face unusually animated. “Well, it seems I’ve been abandoned by my faithful Pup,” she says, looking up at the dark haired man. “Surely you’ll not leave me as well?”

 

“It would be my honor to escort you around the room, my lady,” he chuckles, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. “You wear gloves often,” he says as they move deeper into the hall. “Is Skyhold much colder than your accustomed to?”

 

“Ah...no,” she says vaguely. “It is a long story, and not one suited to such a beautiful ball. Shall we have that dance, instead?”

 

Blackwall spins her slowly around the dance floor, making idle conversation. Evette tries not to notice the stir Alistair makes when he enters, dressed in blue and grey finery. When she catches a glimpse of him on the edge of the crowd, talking with Leliana and Josephine, she regrets her own deep blue gown with its silver griffon embroidery.

 

“Tell me, Blackwall,” she says softly, looking back to him. “It seems as if Josephine and Leliana had no idea that Rutherford and Grace have feelings for one another- why is that?”

 

He hesitates, turning her out in a wide spin before bringing her back. “Well, my lady, that’s because as far as the Commander and the Inquisitor have said, they  _ haven’t  _ had feelings for one another,” he explains. “There was a short time when we all thought they’d move past awkward flirtation and into a real romance, but we were wrong.”

 

“What happened?”

 

He shrugs. “Grace is the Inquisitor, and he her Commander. Whatever was between them ended, and they never acknowledged anything else. Especially not Grace- until now, that is.”

 

“Is that why the Lady Ambassador was so shocked today?”

 

“Lady Josephine could just as easily have been shocked if Sera had shown up in a dress,” he laughs. “Grace has been open and encouraging to the marriage talks with Ferelden. She said it would be the best of alliances, I heard it myself. But it seems she’d rather be having that talk with someone else,” he adds.

 

“So I see,” she muses.

 

When the music ends, she excuses herself, preferring to wander aimlessly about the crowded hall, leaving a trail of cool air behind her to refresh those around her. Eventually, she finds herself drawn to Cullen, standing in a corner looking incredibly uncomfortable.

 

“You look miserable, Rutherford,” she says, coming up alongside him. “Was the fun today too much for you?”

 

“ _ You _ dance?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise without looking at her. “I was surprised to see that.”

 

“I can be a surprising individual, you know.”

 

“Did you enjoy the pantomime earlier?”

 

Keeping her polite smile in place, she lets her gaze travel around the room. Grace and Alistair are dancing together, her dark head tossed back in laughter and his smile charming and easy. As the Hero and Heroine of the tournament earlier, they were expected to dance- and if the surrounding gossip was to be believed, there was a proposal to come later in the night. Evette hoped she could escape by then.

 

“I suppose I did,” she says sadly. “The Hero won the day and you won the girl. That’s how the stories should go, isn’t it?”

 

“Amell, I’ve been keeping something from you,” he says suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You and I- the Inquisitor-”

 

“She asked if we were romantically involved,” Evette says with a nod. “I would have assumed that by now  _ you _ would have made it rather clear that your feelings are for her alone.”

 

“I mean, there’s been  _ some- _ ”

 

“Rutherford,” she says, looking up at him. “You don’t have to explain anything. Just go kiss the woman before she dies of wanting.”

 

“We have- I mean- Maker’s breath-”

 

“Rutherford, I’m telling you this as your friend,” she chuckles. “We all saw that kiss. If you don’t take that woman to bed tonight, she’s going to ambush you in yours.”

 

“The king-”

 

“Is a romantic, and will understand,” she says gently, pushing him into the crowd. “Unless you _want_ her to marry the king, you’d better go.”

 

With a small smile, Evette wraps her arms around her waist and watches him approach the dancing pair and cut in. The smile he gives the Inquisitor reminds her very much of the sort of smile Alistair used to give her when they were happiest.  _I can't remember the last time Alistair looked at me that way,_ she thinks.  _All I remember is that horrible show we gave each other at the Circle._

 

“That was well done, Snowbelle.”

 

Varric’s voice breaks into her thoughts, and she looks down at him. “What was?”

 

“Here I’ve been trying to get Graceless and Curly to admit their feelings for years, and you just pushed him out into it with hardly a word,” he says in admiration. “Ruffles is going to have to plan a very different wedding, I think. Oh, she'll be _livid_ \- it'll be hilarious. You ever thought about going into matchmaking?” he laughs.

 

She snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure anyone would put their hearts in hands as cold as mine.”

 

“Well, you know they say about cold hands, don’t you?” he asks, grinning up at her.

 

She frowns slightly and shakes her head. “No, I’ve never heard anything about cold hands.”

 

“Cold hands lead to warm hearts,” he says with a wink. “Save me a dance later, will you, Snowbelle?” he asks and salutes her with his glass.

 

He’s gone before she can answer, disappearing into the stifling crowd. “Varric-?”

 

“I should have known you’d have the most refreshing spot in the room.”

 

_ No, _ she thinks, closing her eyes.  _ Not now, not like this. Please. _ Turning, she lets her face settle into its typical blank expression. “Your Majesty.”

 

He smiles and hands her a glass of wine. “My lady Amell,” he replies, nodding his head. “You looked rather lonely, so I thought I might keep you company.”

 

“I daresay I’ve never had more companions in an evening.”

 

“Would you dance with me?” he asks, reaching out and catching a tendril of hair between his fingers.

 

“Your Majesty would do well to remember I don’t dance,” she says, stepping out of reach.

 

“You’ve danced with me,” he argues. “And I  _ just _ saw you dance with Blackwall, and promise one to Varric.”

 

“That was a different time,” she reminds him. “We were different.”

 

He smiles and takes her hand, raising it to his lips. “I’m not that different, Vette,” he murmurs.

 

“Why do you persist?” she demands, snatching her hand away. “Do you really hope that we could rekindle what we had? That it’s even possible?”

 

For a moment, Alistair looks unbearably sad. “Yes, Evette,” he says in a voice thick with emotion. “I love you, and while I breathe, I hope that you still love me.” A change comes over him, and the misery is gone, replaced by a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Alistair-  _her_ Alistair, whose love lit up her world- was gone, replaced by the formal nature of the king he had learned to be. “Enjoy the ball, Warden Amell. Do stay after dinner, I have an announcement you will want to witness.”

 

Struck speechless by both his words and the sudden change in him, she nods and watches him go.  _ While I breathe, I hope, _ he’d said. Her heart races and she feels dizzy as overwhelming emotion crashes into her.  _ He isn’t toying with me, _ she thinks, tears burning her eyes as she reaches for the wall to keep balance.  _ Oh Maker, he meant it. _

 

“Evette? Are you all right? What happened?” Leliana asks, hurrying to her side. The Spymaster takes her shoulders, studying her flushed face and glassy eyes. “Vette, what’s wrong? You’re trembling.”

 

“I need air,” she whispers. "Get me out of here."

 

Without another word, Leliana rushes her through a side door, leading her through a series of doors before they’re alone on the battlements surrounding the fortress. Evette leans against the stone, gasping for breath and on the verge of tears while her old friend waits patiently.

 

“Did Alistair do something to you?” she asks finally. “I saw you talking.”

 

“Yes,” she whispers. 

 

“What did he do? He might be king but I’ll still wallop him,” Leliana growls. 

 

It starts as a giggle at the image of Leliana bullying the king, and Leliana pauses, staring at Evette in shock. Then the mage gasps, and her giggles become louder. Half a moment later calm, cool Evette Amell is sitting on the battlements howling with laughter with tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

“Oh Maker,” Leliana groans. “You've cracked. I can't believe he caused this. I’m going to kill him.”

 

“Stop,” Evette laughs, clutching her sides. “Oh stop.”

 

With a sigh, Leliana crouches in front of her. “Evette, tell me right now, what happened?”

 

Evette throws her arms around her friend, knocking them both the ground and sending Leliana into deeper shock than ever. “He loves me,” she whispers. “After all this time and all the things we’ve done to one another, he’s in love with me.”

 

_ Maferath's dusty balls, _ Leliana thinks, helping Evette to her feet.  _ I had no idea it was all for  _ **_her_ ** _. I thought he was trying to get on Grace's good side. Josie’s going to be furious.  _ "Come on," she sighs. "You're going to want to hear this."

 

***

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” Cullen asks in a soft voice as Evette and Leliana join him.

 

“No,” Evette whispers back. “Grace?”

 

The Inquisitor shakes her head. “He’s been sending a  _ lot _ of letters and messengers out, but I don’t know anything.”

 

When Leliana is suspiciously quiet, Evette looks over at her. “You know!”

 

“Of course I do,” she says with a shrug. “I’m the Spymaster, it’s my job to know.”

 

“Excuse me,” Alistair calls over the noise. “Excuse me, everyone.”

 

When no one responds, Josephine sighs and steps forward, whistling shrilly. The crowd instantly goes silent- with the exception of some distinctly Orlesian cries of surprise- and she smiles politely and gestures to the king. “Your Majesty.”

 

He laughs, looking suddenly nervous. “Ah, yes, thank you, Lady Ambassador,” he says and turns back to the crowd. “Now I know that the gift-giving is happening later, but I have a special gift, that can only be given one way.”

 

Beside her, Leliana shifts on her feet and coughs slightly, and Evette gives her a confused look.  _Is this the proposal for the Inquisitor? Are Cullen and I going to have to witness this?_

 

“The Circle tower in Ferelden hasn’t really been the same since the Blight,” Alistair goes on. “And having gone through there myself, I know first hand some of the nightmares that still live there. But Kinloch Hold has been empty for quite some time, and I have devised a plan for it.”

 

“The Circle? What is it, Leliana?” Grace whispers. “Tell me!”

 

“Hush, he’s getting to it.”

 

A blush creeps up Alistair’s neck and makes the tips of his ears red. “I- uh...The mages knew a lot of injustice there, a lot of pain,” he says, and the crowd murmurs softly. “I want to fix that, or try to.”

 

Evette grips Leliana’s arm, eyes locked on the king.  _This is bigger than a proposal,_ she realizes.

 

“I am reopening Kinloch Hold,” he says quickly. “As the new Amell Sanctuary for Mage Children. It won’t be a chantry circle ever again. I hope that children with magical abilities find it a place of safety and learning, watched over and taught by other mages and a better kind of templar. Mages will be able to leave to research or visit their families for holidays, much like we’re celebrating together now,” he says, his eyes finally settling on Evette. “Much like I hope we'll all continue to do so for years to come.”

 

Evette sways on her feet, not quite believing what she’s hearing. “What did he say?” she asks as the crowd bursts into noise.

 

“He wants to turn Kinloch Hold into a...school,” Cullen says, just as surprised as she is. “A sanctuary for mages, like it should have been from the beginning.”

 

“The chantry isn’t going to like that,” Grace whispers, wrapping her hands around Cullen’s arm. "Shit- what is Cassandra going to say?"

 

“Hang the chantry,” Leliana laughs.

 

“Evette!” they hear, and she turns to see Connor barrelling toward her. “Vette did you hear that?!” he shouts, picking her up and spinning her around. “That’s what we’ve always wanted, isn’t it? A safe place for children to learn and mages to study! Someone's finally heard what we've been saying!”

  
The shock begins to fade, and she finds tears on her cheeks. “Yes, Pup, that’s what we wanted. Peace and safety for mages.” She takes a deep breath, and he sets her on her feet, wrapping her in his arms as she fights tears.  _ That’s what I always wanted from him. Just to  _ **_try_ ** _.  _ "Excuse me," she stammers, stepping out of his arms. "I...I need to go."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss in the dark, caboodling, and an angry Josephine.

Walking the battlements alone, Alistair realizes its appeal, and suddenly it’s not hard to wonder why the Inquisitor and her inner circle do so often. It offers beautiful vistas of the Frostback Mountains to one side and an intimate look at the everyday life of Skyhold to the other. But the most appealing thing is the sensation of solitude one gets on the vast walkways.

 

The downside is that the icy wind cuts right through his coat, doing absolutely nothing to cure his misery.

 

Hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched, he keeps his head down and shuffles along, not sure why he can’t sleep. He  _ should _ be in a good mood, the ball was quite a lot of fun, even if Evette disappeared after his announcement, and he’d drank and danced all night. But once he’d finally made his way drunkenly to his chambers, he’d laid in bed, tossing and turning for what seemed hours. Finally, he got up and paced his room, and when that didn’t help, he got dressed and went outside.

 

“I didn’t think to find you here,” he hears and jerks his head up. “You were never the sleepless sort.”

 

“Vette,” he breathes, not believing that she’s standing there, barefoot in the snow wearing nothing but a silk nightgown and her hair floating around her. With the light snowfall and moonlight making her skin glow, she looks like a spirit, and Alistair nearly pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

 

She comes closer and places a hand on his chest, and he feels a warmth spread through him, untangling the knot of emotion in his chest. “You did a very brave thing tonight Alistair,” she says softly, looking up at him with eyes that could always cut him like silverite. “The chantry will disagree.”

 

“Hang the chantry,” he breathes, not quite believing this is real. “They had their turn, and look how it turned out.”

 

“I agree,” she says with a small smile.

 

Alistair’s heart almost stops at that smile. It was the same one she wore when they were young and falling in love- the one that had always been his alone. “Vette, I-”

 

Her kiss is hungry and desperate, and he responds without thinking. Desire rips through him painfully, reminding him that he’d never wanted anyone as badly as he’d ever wanted this woman. He fists a hand in her hair and slides the other down her back, pressing her closer so he can feel every inch of her. Her skin beneath his hands is hot enough to burn, and he makes a desperate sound when she pulls away from him.

 

Gasping for breath, they stare at one another silently as their blood cools. “A promise is a promise,” she whispers.

 

“Somehow I don’t think that kiss was about a silly promise.”

 

“No. I have wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” she admits softly, pressing a fingertip to her swollen lip. 

 

“What stopped you?” he asks, reaching for her.

 

She steps out of his reach, backing away slowly and shaking her head. “Too much to say,” she whispers and flees into the shadows.

#####  **_***_ **

Alistair shakes his head again, trying to clear it and groaning with the movement.

 

“Hungover, your Majesty?” Leliana teases. “You know you can’t handle that much whiskey.”

 

“Oh I know,” he moans, rubbing his temples. “Wynne would be ashamed.”

 

Leliana laughs, remembering how the old mage would drink all of them under the table. “You know she would.”

 

“Has anyone seen the Inquisitor?” Josephine asks, looking as crisp and fresh as ever, in spite of her own drunken gaiety the night before. “Or Commander Cullen, for that matter?”

 

Connor sets his plate down beside the king, mouth full of bread. “I saw them last night,” he offers. “They were…um...how does one say it delicately...?”

 

“Caboodling?” Alistair chuckles.

 

“That works,” he says, pointing a piece of bacon at the king. “They were caboodling in his room.”

 

“And how would  _ you _ know they were there?” Leliana asks suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you a pervert?”

 

“What?!  _ Me? _ No,” he sputters. “I was- I’d promised- well,” he huffs and stuffs more bread into his mouth and mumbles something.

 

“He had a rendezvous with a certain young lady from the mage’s tower,” Evette explains as she approaches with her own breakfast. Alistair starts to scoot over on the bench and make room for her, but she sits as far away from him as possible.

 

“Good morning, Vette,” Alistair says brightly.

 

The look she gives him could freeze a burning log, but she nods. “Your Majesty,” she says and turns back to Connor. “I imagine you cut through the Commander’s office and heard them being...intimate.”

 

“Yes!” he says, coughing as he begins to choke.

 

“Maker’s breath Pup,” Evette sighs, patting his back. “You’re a man grown and still can’t chew your food.”

 

Alistair laughs and points to the far end of the hall. “And here are the pair in question,” he says, laughing at Grace’s smug grin and Cullen’s satisfied expression. Grace’s circle of friends are at the next table, and hoot and catcall, making the Commander blush fourteen shades of red and Grace look all the more pleased with herself.

 

“It’s about time, I’d say,” Dorian teases loudly.

 

“ _ Past  _ time,” Blackwall corrects.

 

“Did she curl your toes to match that hair, Cullen?” Iron Bull laughs.

 

Alistair looks over at Josephine and winces inwardly.  _ Thank the Maker she’s not  _ **_my_ ** _ ambassador, _ he thinks as she marches over and grabs each of them by the arm.  _ Not that Teagan is going to be particularly happy about this, either. _ The Antivan woman is outwardly composed, but her mouth is drawn into a thin line and her eyes like ice. “Maker help them,” he murmurs as she drags them off. “Varric, come here.”

 

“What can I do for you, Hero?” he asks, strolling over. 

 

“That’s been growing a long time, hasn’t it?” he asks.

 

Leliana groans. “You have no idea,” she says. “They’ve been dancing around one another for years. I was starting to think he’d actually let her get married without saying anything.”

 

Varric nods and takes a seat, winking at Evette and making an uncomfortable sense of jealousy settle in Alistair’s stomach.  _ She’s barely looked at me. _ “Thought one time they’d taken the plunge,” he’s saying, “but if they  _ did _ spend the night together, nothing came after it.”

 

“Josie might kill her,” Leliana realizes, lifting her head. “Maker, I have to go help.”

 

“Help kill her?” Varric asks as she dashes off. 

 

“I suppose I should go, too,” Alistair cheerfully, rising. “It’s my marriage contract falling apart, after all.”

 

Alistair nods to them and heads for the War Room, remembering Evette’s kiss the night before. It had been so... _ hot _ , so unlike her. He couldn’t ever remember that kind of hunger and desperation between them before, and it only whet his appetite. But her attitude this morning toward him is no different than before the ball, and he wonders if perhaps he’d dreamed the whole thing. 

 

_ Could I have dreamed it? I drank so much last night...No, I know I saw her last night, and she kissed me. And as soon as this is taken care of, she and I are going to talk.  _

 

#####  **_***_ **

Evette watches Grace and Cullen walk together, talking softly and holding hands, and almost doesn’t approach. It reminds her of circling the camp with Alistair, holding hands and learning about one another.  _ I hated whenever anyone interrupted us, _ she remembers and turns to go.

 

“Amell,” Cullen calls, and she hears his boots thump the stone as he jogs to catch up with her. “Where are you going?” he laughs, catching her sleeve.

 

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” she says, stopping and turning to look at him. “The two of you haven’t looked up from one another all day.”

 

He frowns, holding a hand up for Grace to stay back. “Is something wrong?” he asks in a low voice.

 

Evette struggles to keep her composure as tears burn her eyes. “I’m just very glad you and Grace are happy,” she says, looking away. “That was the goal, wasn’t it?”

 

“And you and King Alistair…?”

 

She blinks rapidly, her expression falling into misery. “I don’t know,” she admits. “He made that announcement, we’ve argued, we’ve kissed-”

 

“You did? When?” he asks.

 

“Oh Rutherford,” she sniffs and pulls a handkerchief from her pocket. Dabbing the corners of her eyes, she takes a deep breath and looks up. “I only came to tell you that Pup and I are leaving tomorrow,” she tells him. 

 

“You are? Why?”

 

“I can’t stay here,” Evette says, shaking her head. “So I have to leave. Please tell Grace I’ll be by her room to speak with her later.”

 

Without another word, she all but runs to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

 

“Evette, are you all right?” Alistair asks, leaping out of the chair and coming closer. “I was waiting for you, I wanted to-”

 

“What are you doing here?” she demands, pushing her hair off her shoulders. “Why am I always finding you in places you don’t belong?”

 

Alistair looks at her with such tenderness that her tenuous hold on her emotions grows even weaker. “I wanted to talk to you, about last night.”

 

“Yes, what did you call it? The Amell Sanctuary for Mage Children,” she says, wiping her nose with her handkerchief. “It’s a good idea, but a rather long name. You should change it.”

 

“Well, that will be your decision, of course,” he says, coming closer. “It’s yours.”

 

“I don’t want it,” she argues, and goes the armoire and starts pulling out clothing. “It’s a lovely gesture, really, but you should find someone who knows a thing or two about caring for children.”

 

“Connor tells me you did a great job with him. What are you doing?”

 

“Packing,” she answers and begins folding things. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

 

“What? Why?” he asks, panic creeping into his voice. “Vette, you told Leliana you were staying another week at least-”

 

“Well, I can’t,” she snaps, her hands steady as she places things into her backpack.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I don’t know how to be around this many people anymore,” she says, the room growing chilly. “It’s just been me and Connor, all these years. No merry band of misfits, no Circle, nothing since the war started. Even after the Blight, when we were at the Circle, it was just us. We helped one another through the torment and imprisonment and now here you are, come to torture me and remind me of days and nights when the world was on fire and the only safe place was your arms. I hate you for that,” she mutters angrily.

 

Alistair's heart throbs at such an emotional outburst from her.  _ Maybe there is hope after all… _ “Vette, it's  _ never _ been just you and Connor,” he says gently, taking her hand and laying it over his heart. “My heart has been in your pocket since the day we met.”

 

Her hand is like ice, chilling him through his shirt. Hope beats through him until she curls her fingers up and pulls away gently. “You can’t mean that,” she whispers. She doesn’t look up at him, but he sees a single tear streak down her cheek.

 

“Why can’t I?” he asks, wanting nothing more than to hold her. But he knows her too well, knows that if he pushes too far too soon she will simply shut him out and walk out of his life again.

 

“If you did…”

 

_ What is she feeling? Why won’t she look at me?  _ “Vette,” he breathes, and risks stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “The Maker knows I love you, that I’ve loved you all these years. You convinced me to marry Anora, and I did because  _ you _ said it was best. And then you left me and hid in the Circle.”

 

“I wanted you to love her. She was someone you could have a family with, and not have to fight the nobility over it. You would never even try if I was there.”

 

“Maybe you’re right,” he admits. “But I  _ did _ try, and it didn’t make a bit of difference. Please don’t shut me out again. You wanted me to help the mages, and I’m doing that- I’ve been doing my best by the apostates. Just tell me what else I can do to make  _ you _ trust me again.”

 

She looks up at him, her silver eyes filled with tears and misery. “Let me go,” she whispers.

 

Cold dread settles in his stomach and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Evette, do you love me?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” she whispers. Another tear slips down her cheek, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “But I don’t think I remember how to show it anymore.”

 

His own eyes burn and he blinks back tears. “I taught you how to love once,” he reminds her. “And you kept some of that. You love Connor, anyone can see that. Please let me help you remember.”

 

She shakes her head, stepping back quickly and looking up at him. “Don’t, please,” she whispers, bloodshot eyes filled with tears. “If I let you do that, you’ll only hurt me.”

 

He has to fight himself to stay where he is. “Possibly. There are things about my life that I can’t control, but Vette, loving you would be worth the risk _. _ Give me a chance.”

 

She shakes her head again, clutching the hand he’d held over his heart to her chest. “Not yet, Alistair. I need to think.”

 

“Will you at least tell me where you’re going? Or when you’ll come back?  _ If  _ you’ll come back?”

 

“I’ll find you,” she promises, not looking at him as she adds more clothing to her pack.

  
He watches her turn and run from the room, willing himself not to follow. Anyone else might have watched and seen a failure, but he knew better. He’d broken through the walls she’d built around herself, touched something deep in her heart.  _ She loves me, _ he thinks, putting a hand over his pounding heart.  _ I know it. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Evette finally understand one another in this heartwarming conclusion.

“I know where she's going.” When Alistair doesn’t look up, Leliana puts a hand on his forehead and pushes his head back to look up at her. “What is wrong with you?” she demands. "I just said I know where she's going!"

 

“She doesn’t want me to follow,” he says, jerking his head away and scowling.

 

“So you’re going to just sit here and drink all day?  _ What _ a kingly thing to do, I’m _so_ glad we went to all that trouble of stealing her phylactery when she went back to the Circle. Do you know I've been letting _Zevran_ take all the credit for that?”

 

“What do you want me to do?” he snaps. “Follow after her like some lovesick puppy?”

 

“Yes!" Leliana says, smacking his forehead again. "That’s exactly what I want you to do!” 

 

“Why do you even care? You brought her here for Cullen,” he mutters.

 

She points a finger at him in warning and glares at him. “That may be true, but I didn’t know the two of you still had feelings for each other-  _ and _ you were talking about marrying Grace. Things have changed.”

 

“She left, Leliana! What am I supposed to do?”

 

“Go  _ after _ her, you idiot!” Leliana sighs and hands him a map. “Look, if you leave now you’ll only be a day behind her. We’ll get you a good horse and you can slip away without anyone following.”

 

He looks at the map, and the spot marked on it in red ink. “Andoral’s Reach,” he whispers.

#####  **_***_ **

Evette kneels in the snow, one hand on a simple marble marker, the other clutching an old wool scarf to her chest. Leliana had said that Rhys had asked for the marker, so that when others came, they would know. “Wynne,” she whispers, a warm tear streaking down her cheek. “Oh, my dear old friend, I wish I had been here. You would be so proud of Connor, he’s an incredible mage, and he has you to thank for that. So do I, for that matter.”

 

“We all have a lot to thank Wynne for.”

 

Evette doesn’t turn, even when she hears boots crunch closer. “We were in the Free Marches,” she says, bowing her head. “I have no idea how Leliana got the letter to me or even how she knew where we were, but one day I came back to my room at the inn and there it was.”

 

“I’m sorry, Vette,” Alistair says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I know you loved her.”

 

"Yes, I did."

 

"Vette, I-"

 

“Let’s leave,” she suggests suddenly, standing and turning to face him. “We can walk away from all of this, and just disappear. We can live in a little cottage and just be nobody special.”

 

“Ah, love, I can’t,” Alistair says sadly, capturing her fingers and kissing them. “Josephine and Teagan will be losing their minds as it is. He hates it when I disappear. I have to go back. ”

 

“Without me,” she says, ice in her voice as she pulls away.

 

“ _ With _ you,” he promises, catching her around the waist and pulling her close. “Things are different. I’m not married anymore.”

 

“You can’t marry me,” she reminds him, looking down.

 

“Does a ring mean that much?” he asks, nudging her nose with his own.

 

“It’s not that…”

 

“Evette, you are the most important thing in my life,” he swears in a hushed voice. “I let you go once, and I’m not letting it happen again. Come back to Denerim with me, let me show you. The chantry won’t acknowledge my marriage to a mage, but no one has to officiate a public oath of fidelity.”

 

She looks up, silver eyes wide. “An oath of fidelity?”

 

He nods, smiling. “Made in front of the nobles, a public notice, Maker- I’ll sing it in the market square if you want. We’ll dress up, exchange oaths in front of our friends-”

 

“You would do that?” she asks, her pale skin turning pink. Evette hasn’t felt this much warmth in years- not since she and Alistair were young and playing at love. It floods her body, making her shiver with the intensity. “You would risk upsetting...well, everyone?”

 

He nods. “And I will work with whoever you want to make things better for the mages. The Circles are gone, we can make something new. We’ll turn Kinloch Hold into something to be proud of, a home instead of a prison. I never believed your magic was a curse, and we'll change Ferelden.”

 

Tears streak down her face at his words, at the overwhelming  _ belief _ she feels when he says them.  _ This was the kind of promise I wanted all along, _ she thinks sadly, recalling all the years they spent apart. “Why couldn’t you have made these promises years ago?” she asks sadly.

 

“I was an idiot,” he whispers. “Now, I know what I want- who I  _ need,  _ and I'm too old to let it pass through my fingers .”

 

She takes a shaking breath and steps out of his arms. “I want to say yes,” she says, her voice cracking like thin ice. “But I’ve learned things...things I  _ must _ see to.”

 

Her heart breaks at his devastated look. “What could possibly be more important than finally being together?”

 

“Finding a cure for the Grey Wardens. Come with me, Alistair.”


	16. Epilogue

_ Arl Teagan, _

 

_ Please, forgive me when I say that I had no idea things would turn out this way. I was rather shocked myself at the total disaster the holiday celebrations became…. _

 

Teagan sighs and puts the letter down, not needing to read the rest. He’s already heard about all of it- the Inquisitor rejecting the marriage contract in favor of her Commander, the Hero of Ferelden showing up and causing a scene as she always does. The only thing he  _ doesn’t _ know is where the king actually is. The last anyone could tell him was that he’d left for Andoral’s Reach to find Warden Amell and his cousin Connor. No one had seen or heard of them since.

 

It rather reminds him of when Maric ran away with the Grey Wardens to explore the deep roads. Once was forgivable, but this was the second time Alistair had just disappeared with no notice.  _ I don’t suppose it will take long for the bills to show up, _ he thinks, returning to his chair by the fire.  _ I don’t suppose he had a single coin on him when he ran off, and they’ll need supplies. He’ll send a letter then, I’m sure. _

 

“Ah Alistair,” he sighs, sitting back. “You are so much like your father it’s unbelievable.”


End file.
